


The 12 Days of Stucky

by Miss_Aphi



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 2 years in the making, Adoption, Also headcanons, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Ballet, Bucky and Steve are switches, Bucky gives no fucks about your gender norms, Captain America: Civil War Trailer, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Darcy Lewis is Tony Stark's Daughter, Dissociation, Elevator Sex, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fear of Heights, Feels, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Marvel 616/MCU Crossover, Mistletoe, Movie References, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Other, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prostate Massage, Red Room, References to Civil War trailer, Rimming, Sexual Tension, Shower Sex, Smut, Snowed In, Stucky - Freeform, The Avengers - Freeform, Tropes, Unreliable Narrator, christmas stucky, sorry - Freeform, steve x bucky - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 15:57:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5423117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Aphi/pseuds/Miss_Aphi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Bucky had always fit together like two pieces of the same puzzle.  Bucky's recovery was going well, even after the events in Washington DC and Wakanda, but he was still missing things, bits and pieces of his memory and an empty feeling in his chest.  Maybe their ragged edges just need a little bit of filing down to fit back together again.</p><p>  <i>A 12-piece Stucky-trope fic that takes place across several years in Steve and Bucky's life together after the events of Civil War.</i></p><p>
  <b>[COMPLETED 12/12]</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Partridge In A Pear Tree

**A Partridge In A Pear Tree**

**~ =** **★** **= ~**

_December 12th, 2017_

“ _This_ , Buck. _This_ is why I don't use ‘chutes,” Steve groused from about four feet over Bucky's head. The fella looked like a red, white, and blue marionette, strung up by the strands of his parachute. For the life of him, Bucky couldn't fathom how the Star-Spangled Idiot managed to get all snarled up in the tree in the first place, much less how he'd managed to come out upside-down. They'd jumped and landed in nearly the same area.

“M’sorry, pal, but it was either doin’ a patriotic version of Pinocchio or bein’ paste on the ground. Wait, I ain't sorry at all. What kinda punk jumps out of a crashin’ quinjet without a ‘chute?” Bucky drawled as he lifted his gloved, right hand up to protect his kohl-smeared eyes from the sun. Flurries were falling around the sun rays, which only helped to blind him further. Four feet above him, Steve huffed and Bucky couldn't help the smirk he got after. Focusing on Steve's predicament was keeping him from thinking about the knee-deep snow he’d landed in, or the chill that was steadily creeping into his bones, even through the cold weather gear he was wearing beneath his armour.

“The snow woulda broken the fall,” Steve grumbled. “You gonna give me a hand or should I just hang around for the rest of the day?” He groused, stretching out his arms and reaching for Bucky.  His fingers wiggled in the air, and Bucky sighed at him with annoyance.  He set his bug-out bag down on the snow and eyed the man above him.  Steve’s face was going red thanks to gravity and his Irish complexion, causing the blonde hair to stand in stark relief.  Bucky had fuzzy memories about Steve red-faced; coughing too hard when the pneumonia took hold, or blushing something furious when Bucky drew him close.  No.  No, those were just fantasies.  Not memories.  Right…?

Shaking the thought off, Bucky bent his knees and jumped upwards.  Latching onto both of Steve’s arms, he rocked his weight a bit to jostle Steve free.  The branch that was holding most of Steve’s weight was no match for nearly six-hundred pounds of super soldier.  It cracked loudly, and both men hit the snow hard, a tangle of limbs, parachute cords, and the branch that Bucky managed to block it with his metal forearm.  Steve was laughing, breathless and muffled by the darkly-coloured canopy.

“Yeah, of _course_ you’d laugh, you punk,” Bucky muttered as he helped unwrap Steve from his nylon cocoon.  As expected, Steve was grinning as he squirmed free of the cords.  Bucky flicked his forehead and stood, dusting off as much snow as he could.  With Steve free, thoughts turned to survival.  Their jet had been shot down by HYDRA agents in the northern snow-wastes of Ontario, Canada, and there wasn’t a whole helluva lot up here.  Beyond the bunker Steve and Bucky had been en route to take out, it was just white forest for miles and miles.

Steve rolled over and pushed up onto his knees, shaking off as much snow as he could manage while still mostly buried in it.  Bucky set to digging out his Starkphone from his bag.  They needed to get out of the elements ASAP before calling in for a recovery team.  Sure, super soldiers ran hotter than unenhanced humans, but Bucky was painfully aware of the way ice and snow affected both of them.  Hunkering down in the wilderness with only their survival bags and parachutes for protection against the elements was their dead last option, as far as he was concerned.

“Anything?”  Steve asked, stepping closer to Bucky until they were pressed shoulder-to-shoulder.  It had taken Bucky a long damned time to be comfortable with being touched at all without flinching away.  Longer still for anyone who wasn’t Steve.  Even now, he was still very much about his personal bubble, but Steve… Steve could get into his bubble without popping it.

Bucky scowled at the translucent screen as it booted up.  The Starkphone promptly alerted him that there was no line available to the Avengers comm system, as there was a storm heading their way and blocking secured frequencies.  A litany of Russian curse words slipped out in a steady stream beneath his breath.  Steve huffed out a laugh.  Same as back in the war with Denier and Jones, Steve had picked up the curse words first.

“Look, there's a Ranger cabin a mile north-west.  If we go fast, we can beat the storm,” Steve said, reaching over Bucky's arm to expand the GPS image of the immediate area, exposing the small building amidst the snow.  Bucky gave him a sour look.

“Y’got snowshoes in your go-bag, punk?  Last I checked, despite comin’ back from the dead, neither of us can walk on water, liquid or otherwise,” Bucky drawled while gesturing to the knee-deep snow and rolling his eyes at the smirking blond.  Steve shouldered into him harder than he'd shoulder anyone else, before turning towards the direction of the cabin.

“Race ya,” he said before he started running. Well, no, it wasn't running. It was slogging through the snow, lifting his legs high and using his great strength to plough through the hard-packed powder.  Bucky groaned with frustration before applying equal force to keep on Steve's heels.

By the time they reached the cabin, both men were huffing and puffing.  Their cheeks were red and sore from the exertion and the cold.  The cabin wasn't much to look at.  Logs made up the exterior, along with a poorly maintained roof, and a few windows, some of which were boarded up from the outside.  What looked to be an ancient generator stood under a small awning on the east wall, and a frozen-over rain barrel sat in the west.

Steve's hand twisted the brass doorknob only to find it locked, and Bucky gave a bitter laugh.

“The fuck they think anybody who comes across this place?  Steal the _ancient_ radio equipment an’ sell it to _nobody_?  Honestly!  Nobody lives here.  Northern Russia had more population density. And better technology,” Bucky ranted, arms wrapping around himself.  He tucked the silver one closest to his body to try and keep the internal hardware from freezing up on him.  The chill was becoming bone deep quickly, and he could feel the sick lump of panic starting to develop in his throat.  They needed to get warm and dry.  No more freezing, no more cryo… Steve had promised…

“You're so pretty when you're angry, Buck,” Steve replied simply as he twisted the doorknob clean off the door.  Bucky stared at Steve's back, slack jawed and confused.  He forgot the cold briefly as he stared at Steve's back.  It wasn't the first time Steve had said something offhanded like that.

 _I hope you don't cut your hair; it looks good like that._  
_Christ, Buck, lookatchu._  
_Of course I'm gonna take care of you.  
__To the end of the line, remember?_  

Bucky forced himself out of his thoughts and moved into the dark, one-room cabin behind Steve.  By the cold, musty smell in the air and the thick layer of undisturbed dust on the wooden floorboards, the Rangers hadn't used this cabin in some time.  Drop cloths covered what little furniture was in the room - _a thin cot, the desk, and radio equipment_ \- as well as a decent pile of chopped wood for the cast iron stove in the corner.  Steve beelined it for the stove, checking the structural integrity of the stove pipe briefly.  Satisfied they weren't going to die from carbon monoxide poisoning, smoke inhalation, or a fire, Steve filled the stove belly full and used the magnesium starter from his go-bag to get the fire going.  Bucky was right beside him, sighing with relief once the kindling caught.  Steve hummed and eyes Bucky close, which caused Bucky's breath to catch.  No.  Steve was not looking at him like that.

Was he?

“Pants,” Steve instructed, as he started peeling out of his armour. Bucky felt a heat rise into his cheeks that had nothing to do with the fire burning in the stove.

“Huh?” He managed, eloquently.  His cock gave a small throb of awareness, causing him to shift his weight so the shaft dug hard into his jockstrap.  Steve wiggled his fingers slightly to indicate Bucky's gear.

“Pants off,” Steve continued, brow rising slightly with curiosity.  “You hit your head when you landed, jerk?  Soaking wet.  Get outta your clothes,” Steve instructed.

“Oh.  Yeah,” Bucky managed lamely before shucking off his armour and setting it close to the stove to dry.  Steve withdrew the bedrolls from both their bags.  There was no real digging required.  Even if Bucky couldn't remember everything explicitly, he knew they both packed their go-bags the same way they had since the war.  Only real difference was the new tech.

Bucky took his roll and shimmied into it before hunkering down in front of the stove.  Steve did the same, sitting hip-to-hip with him to share what warmth they could.  It was a comfortable silence that they fell into, rather than strained or awkward.  It had always been that way with Steve, though more particularly in this phase of Bucky's life.   All Bucky needed now was a cigarette and the familiar scratchy-scratch of graphite on paper, and he could almost imagine himself back in Brooklyn, before the war, before HYDRA.

_“Buck… Buck, c’mon.  S’Christmas.  Be nice t’me…” Steve whispered, strained, slender fingers grasping, pulling Bucky in by his suspenders.  Bucky never resisted, never denied Steve a thing.  He leaned over Steve, pressing him down into the sofa with a firm kiss.  Steve's lean legs curled over Bucky's hips, drawing the larger man close._

_“Ain't Christmas yet, greedy punk.  Mm, but I guess I'll letcha unwrap me all the same,” Bucky drawled, lifting his head to grin down at the slender man beneath him.  Steve rolled his eyes, and snapped one of Bucky's suspenders.  Amusement bloomed in Steve's eyes all the same, before laughter bubbled up from his chest._

_“You're such a cheese ball, jerk,” Steve complained, but the fondness was evident as he pulled Bucky back down._

Bucky blinked at the stove in front of him.  Memories coming back in little fits and starts, flashes like that or muscle memory that he'd done something before.  He'd had plenty of those little thoughts concerning Steve.  Everything from brushing Steve's loose bangs from his forehead to having the longing urge to curl himself around Steve's back while he made them breakfast.  He wanted to kiss along the exposed skin of the side of Steve's neck, nibble on the little spot behind his ear that made Steve's toes curl…

But then he'd wonder how he knew that.  Or was it just a full-fledged fantasy that he'd created young and dumb in Brooklyn?  It was possible.  That sort of shit didn't fly back then.  Hell, though it had vastly improved since then, the queer community was still largely marginalized.

Glancing over at Steve, Bucky swallowed hard.  In the softly flickering light, he could make out the soft plush of Steve's pink lips, the hook of his nose where it had been broken once or twice.  Not even the serum would fix that bump, though it had repaired the deviated septum.  Couldn't have a super soldier that sometimes whistled through his nose when he struggled to breathe.  The worst part of looking at Steve’s silhouette, was watching how he brought his shoulders up to his ears and shuddered inside his bedroll.  The stupid punk… always minimizing his shit because he didn’t want Bucky to mother hen him while having his own shit to deal with.

“C’mon, Steve.  S’put the rolls together like we used to,” _we used to, didn’t we?_  “Like back in the war…?”  Bucky asked, trying to keep his expression neutral and voice level.  Steve was wide-eyed when he looked to Bucky.   _Fuck.  Shit._  Had they not done that?  Had that been fantasy, too?  Steve’s expression became warm and he smiled tightly.

“Yeah… yeah okay,” Steve confirmed, shifting out of his and pulling the zipper open.  Bucky did the same, and they fussed a bit with getting the two rolls zipped together again.  It wasn’t long before they were settling into the one, body-warmed cavity.  Despite the initial chill in their skin, the warmth grew inside their shared bedroll.  Bucky found himself curling towards Steve’s heat, hunkering deeply into the fabric.  With a trembling hand, Steve wrapped an arm around Bucky’s back, setting his palm flat under his ribcage.  Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force a memory, an _actual_ memory, of doing this before, but nothing came.  No errant thought or recollection shifting to the surface to illuminate what was real and what was imagined between himself and his best friend.  Platonic, then… it must have been…

Swallowing his the sharp stab of disappointment in his chest down, Bucky greedily absorbed the embrace.  He tucked his body into as much of a ball as the bedroll would allow before pressing his cheek into Steve’s warm shoulder.  Safe, protected, and warm, it shouldn’t have surprised Bucky at all that he fell asleep a short time later.

It did, however, as he woke up several hours later, disoriented.  He was on his side with the warm heat of a body behind him.  The weight of Steve’s arm over his hip and the familiar gusting  of his equally heated breath against the back of Bucky’s neck were a comfort, calming him down immediately.  They must have found a cottage in northern Italy to hunker down in for the night.  But why couldn’t he hear Dum Dum snoring…?

Blearily, Bucky blinked a few times and twisted his head around to take in the room.  Empty furniture draped with dusty white cloths, a fire dwindling in the cast iron stove, and the northern lights glowing green outside the window.  Snow was visibly mounting above the window sill, making Bucky’s heart do an uneasy flip.  They weren’t in Italy, after all.

With his moving around, Steve stirred enough to draw Bucky closer against his abdomen.  His hips canted to absently grind his suddenly very-obvious-erection into Bucky’s ass cheek.  Not even the cup Steve was wearing was going to hide _that_.

“Buck,” he rumbled into the nape of Bucky’s neck beneath his ponytail.  Goosebumps crawled across Bucky’s skin and he couldn’t suppress the shiver if he tried.  Flattening his hand on the ground, Bucky pushed himself experimentally back against Steve’s body.  He held his breath, his heart pounding loudly in his ears that it was difficult to actually hear even the whistling, stormy winds over that.  Steve hummed and pressed forward, mouth and teeth working over the tendon of Bucky’s neck, drawing a soft mewl from Bucky.

Steve’s hands started to wander, dragging his fingertips down Bucky’s abs until reaching the waistband of his thermals.  There was no hesitation as calloused fingertips pushed beneath the thermals and Bucky’s jockstrap to curl around his cock.  Everything came rushing back to Bucky; sound, sensation, and he began to breathe again, except that his first breath came out as a heated moan.  Steve jolted, his hand stilling where it was.

“Buck…?”  He asked, bewildered.  Bucky’s heart was racing.   _No no no, you want this, we’ve… we’ve done this, I know we have!_  Scrambling for what to do, he arched his spine, pressing his hips harder into Steve’s groin as his head tilted back to expose the side of his neck.

“Stevie, _please_.  I… I need you,” he whispered, so fucking close to begging.  Even if it was a lie, a fantasy cooked up in his torture-addled mind to keep him from going completely insane, he would beg Steve to touch him the way lovers touch, if only for this one night.  Steve hesitated, his hand withdrawing which forced an embarrassingly desperate whine from Bucky’s throat.  That hand moved up to curl around the side of Bucky’s neck, turning him onto his back.

He’d barely made it all the way before Steve was kissing him, hot and commanding.  His tongue pushed into Bucky’s mouth, possessing every inch with determined sweeps and precise rolls.  His body followed, rolling over Bucky’s and wedging between his thick thighs to press their bodies intimately together.  It wasn’t enough, not nearly so.  Bucky’s flesh hand shook as he scrambled with both to peel Steve out of his thermals.  He wanted skin, all that pale Irish skin, against him.  Steve growled with frustration as he did the same.

“Too damned cold.  Fuck.  Leave it t’you t’finally make a move again when it’s twenty below outside,” Steve complained as he placed punishing bites down the side of Bucky’s neck, his Brooklyn drawl thick and unhindered by the focus required for commanding a mission.  Bucky flushed as he tossed Steve’s underclothes out above their heads and let his hands wander over all that skin.

“Shut it, punk.  You got eyes an’ hands, don’t you?  Do I gotta do everythin’ for ya?”  Bucky retorted once he was stripped.  His heart clenched slightly, anxiety pooling in his stomach with all of his scars and the metal monstrosity hanging off his body completely exposed.  But Steve, bless him, barely seemed to notice.  He kissed and licked across Bucky’s throat, shoulders, nibbling at scar tissue and unmarked flesh alike, as if there was no difference to him.  Bucky’s silver hand shifted out of the bedroll, palming for his go-bag and dragging it close once he got a finger curled around the strap.  His head tipped back, eyes fluttering briefly as Steve took the motion as an invitation to devour the skin of his throat.

“God damn it,” Bucky hissed, willing his eyes back open to find the field first aid kit in his bag.  The other contents spilled out as he rooted around.  Finally, the plastic box clattered against the floorboards and was flipped open.  Bandages and gauze were flicked out of the way until he found the small jar of Vaseline.  Victoriously, he brought it back into the bedroll and shoved it into Steve’s chest, the implication clear.  Steve palmed the bottle out of Bucky’s hand, a blush spreading across his cheeks.

“You sure?”  He whispered, which only served to irritate Bucky.  He scowled up at Steve before pinching one of the blond’s nipples.

“Hell yes.  You want a written letter of consent or somethin’, punk?  Ain’t gonna find a notary all the way up here in fuckin’ _Snowdesert_ , Ontario,” Bucky drawled.  Steve kissed him hard, probably to shut him up, but Bucky couldn’t give a damn if he tried.  Metal and flesh arms wrapped around Steve’s neck.  The sound of the cap twisting off the jar was far more thrilling than anything he’d heard in awhile.  Bucky’s thighs parted further with anticipation, hips rutting up to grind his cock against Steve’s.  Steve’s slicked fingers were cool to the touch as they circled Bucky’s hole, but Bucky was far too desperate for teasing as he pushed down towards those fingers.

“Stevie, swear t’god, m’gonna--” whatever threat he’d intended to make died on his tongue.  Steve planted two fingers inside of him without warning, and Bucky could do little else but pant and moan, nails digging into Steve’s back hard.  The burn ached deep inside of him, abating quickly until he was rolling his hips towards Steve’s palm, shamelessly.  With familiar precision, Steve’s fingers hooked upwards and Bucky swore he saw the aurora borealis behind his eyelids.

“Right there, r-right there, oh my _god_ ,” Bucky keened.  Steve huffed out a laugh as he bit down the side of Bucky’s neck, and then back up to suck a bruise into the flesh under his earlobe.

“So easy…” Steve teased, voice raspy and dark.  Any doubts Bucky had in his mind about this, about their past, evaporated in that moment.  There was an intimate knowledge in the way Steve spoke to him, touched him.  He was already teasing with a third finger, coaxing the muscles to relax enough to take another.  Bucky was a slave to the sensation, writhing under Steve’s heavy body, onto his fingers, but needing more, so much more.  Steve gave it to him, forcing that teasing finger beyond the tightness encountered until he was pressed into the knuckles.

Even then, Bucky didn’t stop, couldn’t stop.  Since his mind had started knitting itself back together, he’d been plagued by dreams of this.  Hell, more recently, it was waking fantasies.  Something as small as Steve brushing by him had his skin prickling with awareness.

All too soon, those fingers were being pulled out, tearing another whine from Bucky.  His hands pulled urgently at Steve’s shoulders, a soft chant of his name starting up on Bucky’s lips.  Another kiss to shush him followed, while Steve slicked his cock up with the Vaseline.  Hitching his hips closer, he fed his cock into Bucky’s hole steadily, watching Bucky’s face for any sign of distress.  Not even a twinge of pain breached his expression as his spine bowed and he held fast for Steve.

Once fully seated, Steve barely gave him half a minute to adapt before he was moving.  Bruises began to bloom on Bucky’s hips beneath Steve’s fingers as they were hefted up onto his thighs.  There was no slowness, no waiting.  Steve found a relentless rhythm, quick and deep, scraping the tip of his cock across Bucky’s prostate with each thrust.

Without any care in the world, Bucky’s flesh hand curled around his cock to stroke himself in time to Steve’s thrusts. Steve’s fingers moved around Bucky’s to help, his thumb flicking around the reddened head, stroking over the slit or teasing into it just slightly.  Bucky cursed, a litany in every language he knew and laced with Steve’s name or _harder, faster, or_ …

“C’mon, Rogers, put ya back into it!”  Bucky nearly shouted, his release building heat and pressure inside his skin.  Steve barely huffed a laugh at him before giving the Sergeant exactly what he wanted.  He bent forward, shifting the angle to where he was fucking right into Bucky’s prostate, hitting it directly before sliding further back.  Another few poundings and Bucky was done, spilling across their knuckles with a choked-off howl.  Steve followed seconds later, stilling and pressing himself in deep to stay buried.

Breathing hard, Bucky forced his eyes halfway open to gaze up at the man above him.  Steve was flushed from cheeks to sternum with blond hairs sticking to the sheen of sweat on his brow.  Biting down on his bottom lip to keep from weeping at the sight, Bucky reached his cool silver digits up to brush the hair back, his palm setting on Steve’s warm cheek after.  Steve leaned into the touch as he lowered his body down onto his elbows to steal a small kiss.

“You remembered,” he murmured, fondly, and Bucky felt himself wince before he could stop it.  He shrugged a bit, distracting Steve briefly with another lip-lock.

“Thought it was a dream… didn’t think I’d be so lucky…” Bucky admitted.  Steve didn’t seem shocked or upset by this, though he did nuzzle his cheek against Bucky’s firmly.

“Luck ain’t ever been on our side, Buck.  S’destiny.  Fate,” Steve said confidently.  Of course Steve would say something like that.  Fucking optimists…

“Yeah, well… it’ll be interestin’ t’see what that bitch has in store for us now we’re together again.  Just… no trains, okay?  And you’re wearin’ your fuckin’ ‘chutes from here on out, I don’t give a damn if you get strung up in every tree from here to the Grand Canyon,” Bucky groused, tugging at Steve’s ear, though it only made him laugh.

“Yes, dear.  I promise.”

 

 **~ =** **★** **= ~**


	2. Two Turtle Doves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It had been about a year since that night in the snowy wasteland of northern Ontario. A year of maneuvering their relationship into a place where they were comfortable. It had taken some getting used to, especially when Bucky didn’t remember all the things they used to do together. He’d forgotten how damned ticklish his best guy was, and that he liked it when Bucky nibbled down his spine._
> 
>  
> 
> _It wasn’t that they were hiding, per say. That shit was all legal now. Hell, he and his Stevie could get hitched if they wanted to. Not that Bucky was thinking about that stuff. Oh, no no, he definitely hadn’t been dicking around on Pinterest with proposal ideas, or what rings might look nice on Steve’s thick fingers, or how to go about asking another man to marry him, or what they needed to elope at the nearest courthouse. And he certainly hadn’t been wondering whether Barnes-Rogers or Rogers-Barnes sounded better, like some foolish teenage girl. No, definitely not._
> 
> _He totally had._

**Two Turtle Doves**

**~ =** **★** **= ~**

_December 13th, 2018_

“We’re not talkin’ ‘bout this,” Steve complained softly.  His cheeks were a deep pink and his blue eyes were cast down on the floor in front of his combat boots.  Beside him, Bucky smirked, smoothing a hand through his hair before tugging the elastic free.

“Ain’t we?  ‘Cause m’pretty sure we been talkin’ ‘bout it since it happened,” Bucky drawled with an eye roll, though his silver fingers brushing idly back and forth along Steve’s forearm.  The elevator in Avengers Tower was moving from the hangars to the private floors, and it felt like it was toddling along at a snail’s pace.  Bucky got it, he did.  After a mission, even when he’d been with HYDRA, his skin had felt like it was drawn too tight over his muscles and bones.  His pours felt clogged with gunpowder, sweat, and blood, and sometimes no amount of scrubbing down was going to help.

It had been about a year since that night in the snowy wasteland of northern Ontario.  A year of maneuvering their relationship into a place where they were comfortable.  It had taken some getting used to, especially when Bucky didn’t remember all the things they used to do together.  He’d forgotten how damned ticklish his best guy was, and that he liked it when Bucky nibbled down his spine.

It wasn’t that they were hiding, per say.  That shit was all legal now.  Hell, he and his Stevie could get hitched if they wanted to.  Not that Bucky was thinking about that stuff.  Oh, no no, he definitely hadn’t been dicking around on Pinterest with proposal ideas, or what rings might look nice on Steve’s thick fingers, or how to go about asking another man to marry him, or what they needed to elope at the nearest courthouse.  And he certainly hadn’t been wondering whether _Barnes-Rogers_ or _Rogers-Barnes_ sounded better, like some foolish teenage girl.  No, definitely not.

He _totally_ had.

Even the social media ads were popping up through Friday’s filters as wedding shit.  He could only pray that that shit stayed on his tech, and didn’t somehow magically infect Steve’s through the network or whatever.

Steve was… he was just wonderful.  They spent every moment they could together, constantly orbiting in one another’s space or just hanging out on the couch.  It had been that way before the wasteland, but it felt different now.  Now, Bucky could tuck his toes under Steve’s leg, reach out to hold Steve’s hand, or just be a real pest and sprawl over his lap like a giant cat.  He took every opportunity to do any or all of that, simply because he could.

Right now though, Steve was being a prick.  Bucky was tired of not-hiding.  It wasn’t that they’d been toning it down for the team or anything, but it was sort of an undiscussed thing that they not get handsy in front of the rest of the Avengers.  Which was stupid as hell, as far as Bucky was concerned, especially when they were clustered in the common living room for a movie night.  Jane was often right there in Thor’s lap, fiddling with some astral-whozawhatsit because she was on the brink of a breakthrough, but Thor and Darcy had insisted.  Pepper and Tony shared one of the arm chairs.  Natalia made herself comfortable, sprawled across Sam and Clint’s laps.  Vision and Wanda tried to subtly canoodle on the floor under a blanket.  It was stupid that he felt like he couldn’t do much more than press himself against Steve’s side, touching him from shoulder to ankle and not much more than that.  Aside from that, he was pretty damned sure almost everybody on the team already fucking _knew_ he and Stevie were a thing.

“No, we haven‘t been,” Steve insisted, drawing Bucky back from where his mind had wandered.  He sighed and rolled his eyes once more, giving Steve’s forearm a squeeze.

“Well _I_ have, whether you were listenin’ or not, punk.  You ain’t even given me a straight answer.  All I wanna do is give my best guy a li’l love surrounded by the people that know us best.  Y’think they give a shit who you’re fuckin’, doll?”  Bucky retorted as he pressed a bit closer to Steve’s side.  Steve shuffled away unconsciously, just in case the doors opened, but Bucky followed until he’d pinned Steve in a corner with his hip.

“Buck, c’mon.  I can’t… can’t be seen to have favourites,” Steve replied, stiffly.  He grimaced, too, which meant he knew just how much of a load of horseshit that was.

“But you have ‘em, an’ everybody knows it.  Your A-team is always me, Nat, an’ Sam, unless you need extra muscle in the form of thunderstorms or laser beams,” Bucky replied flatly, twisting around until he’d crowded Steve right into the corner, keeping him caged there with his arms on the walls on either side of his body.  Steve’s eyes widened and his lips parted.  Shit.  Bucky hadn’t expected such a visceral response so quickly.  Sometimes it took a bit of cajoling to get Steve to bend a little.  He grinned, vicious and predatory.

“Stevie, c’mon… everybody _knows_ m’your best friend.  Ain’t gonna change much if they know that I’m your man, too,” he purred, silver fingers gently stroking over the straps that kept Steve’s shield secure against his back.  Steve squirmed as he looked down at Bucky, baby blue eyes scarcely more than a thin rim around his pupils.   _Shit, already?_  Their mission must have affected Steve a little bit more than he cared to let on, if he was already shifting into that pliant side he hid so well.  Bucky glanced over his shoulder at the numbers slipping by, nice and slow.  They were barely three floors down from the hangar.  Friday knew them too well.  Bucky grinned and leaned down to mouth along the side of Steve’s neck.

“Say it, Stevie,” he cooed, hands dropping to pull Steve’s belt open.  Steve shuddered, his head tipping back against the corner with a solid thump.

“Stop elevator,” Steve groaned softly as Bucky bit down over his pulse point.  “Override: Rogers, Steven Grant.  Engage privacy protocols,” he finished weakly, as Bucky shoved his pants down to his knees and wrapped his metal fingers around Steve’s cock.  Bucky was sure Friday confirmed audibly, but his focus was honed in on the way Steve crumpled with a whine, hips rutting forward off the elevator wall to rub himself shamelessly against the delicate slats of Bucky’s mechanical fingers.  Steve palmed Bucky’s face and pulled it up to kiss him fiercely, keening urgently within his throat for more.  Bucky let him for a minute, let Steve feel in control as he rolled his tongue through Bucky’s mouth hungrily.

Bucky broke it off with a harsh bite to Steve’s tongue.  He backed off for only a moment to turn Steve around.  The shield was pulled off the magnetic posts on the harness and dropped noisily to the floor, likely denting the metal ground on impact.  Not that Bucky cared.  Oh no, he was far more interested in dropping to his knees behind Steve and gripping his cheeks hard enough to leave bruises.  He pushed them apart and wasted little time in pointing his tongue and pressing it into the tight muscle of Steve’s hole.  Above him, Steve let out an utterly wrecked noise as he arched his whole body to get _more_.

“There y’go, baby doll.  So good, huh?” Bucky praised as he teased a flesh finger over Steve’s hole.  He pushed it in along with his tongue, moving both counterpoint to one another until Steve was writhing in earnest.  He stood up and pressed against Steve’s back, dropping his own pants in a mad scramble.  Bucky knew he should have prepped Steve longer, but his best guy liked the burn, especially after a mission like the one they’d been on.  The edge of pain, that deep burn that followed Bucky pushing into him, had Steve already precariously balanced on the precipice.

“Buck…” Steve groaned, hips rolling sooner than they should have to try and get Bucky to move.  He couldn’t resist, not when Steve was squirming on his dick, clenching and unclenching the muscles of his sweet ass like he was.  With his flesh arm wrapped around Steve’s belly, the other planted against the wall to anchor their bodies as Bucky began to move.  He hissed at the tight drag, the way Steve squeezed tight around him when he pulled out to the tip, as if Bucky would pull out after only that one, deep thrust. Bucky had a great deal of self-control, but there was no way in hell that he was in that much control, not with Steve moaning and hanging onto his cockhead like that.

Steve began to chant Bucky’s name as he began to fuck into him.  Slow at first, but quickly gaining speed, until the sound of skin clapping against skin filled the small elevator cab beneath his lover’s sweet prayers. Steve’s hand gripped Bucky’s wrist, pushing it forcefully downward to the throbbing shaft.  Bucky moaned, pressing himself flush against Steve’s back as he gripped Steve’s cock and began to stroke, quick movements that ended with a soft cupping over the head.  Steve twisted enough to press his lips against Bucky’s mouth, and Bucky returned the weak kiss as they rocked together.

“Buck… Buck, so close,” Steve warned, his voice hoarse and low.  Bucky bit his earlobe and held on, his hips’ rhythm renewed and his hand moving faster.  Steve’s panting became a cacophony of moans as he cupped his hand over the tip of his own cock, coming hard into his palm under Bucky’s ministrations.  Bucky was undone, the tight, clamping heat of his lover around his cock far too much to resist.  He came deep inside Steve with a raspy cry, burying his face into the back of Steve’s neck.  A little dizzy and a bit overwhelmed, he stayed put, throbbing cock still pulsing inside of Steve.

Steve’s sudden, soft laughter jostled him slightly and Bucky groaned, tucking his pelvis tight against Steve’s ass to stay inside.

“Wha’…?  Wha’so funny?”  Bucky slurred.  Steve hummed and tipped his head back against Bucky’s shoulder.

“Nothin’, baby… you’re right,” Steve murmured, far more pulled together than Bucky would have liked.  He supposed that was his super perfect serum working, while Bucky was still recovering.

“Right ‘bout what?”  He asked as he gingerly extricated himself and pulled Steve’s pants back up over his slender hips.  He stayed close, however, nosing into blond hair and kissing against Steve’s pale neck.

“Team probably already knows,” Steve agreed, turning his head to the side to catch Bucky’s gaze.  “No point in hidin’ it, really,” he continued. Bucky felt warmth swell through his chest as he leaned up onto his toes to kiss Steve over his shoulder.  He had no idea if Steve would ever know just how much that meant to Bucky.

Once they had collected themselves, Steve disengaged the elevator lockdown, and it began to move at its normal pace towards the common floor.  The doors slid open to reveal the living area and open-concept kitchen that the Avengers shared.  It was decorated modestly with Christmas decorations amidst the comfortable, reinforced furniture.  Pepper’s doing, Bucky was sure.  There was nothing gaudy, and while it did stick with the red and gold scheme Tony seemed to lean towards, it was delicate and subtle, as opposed to heavy-handed.  The one item that Steve and Bucky had always managed to avoid was the dainty cluster of mistletoe.  They’d done so by disembarking separately or coming down to the commons at different times.

“Hey, fellas,” came the husky greeting of Darcy Lewis, who was shuffling out from the kitchen to the sofa with a mug of hot chocolate in one hand.  She smiled at them both as she held her hands out, making a grabby motion with her free one in order to get hugs.  Darcy was about the only person in their ‘support team’ that managed to get hugs from everyone, even Bruce.  Together, they stepped off the elevator and got about halfway towards her before they were stuck to the floor mid-stride.  A wicked smile quirked at the corners of Darcy’s lips, her free hand dropping as she took a contemplative sip from her mug.

“Uh… Darce?”  Bucky asked, a bit of panic rising in his chest.  He looked the girl over, his mind going a mile-a-minute.  Photostatic veil?  HYDRA?  No, couldn’t be.  There was no way that HYDRA would know the way Darcy demanded her embraces.  Unless…

“Relax, Buckster.  Dad thought it’d be funny as hell to put the magnets you use for the shield in your boots and rig ‘em up under the carpet, seein’ as how the two of you are the only ones that have managed to avoid the…” she twisted her finger up to the mistletoe over their heads before bouncing on the balls of her feet.  Beside him, Steve sighed and rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, glaring daggers at the black pod in the ceiling that Stark was probably raptly watching.  Considerably calmed by Darcy’s reassurances, Bucky huffed out a laugh and looked up to Steve with an arched brow.

“Well, Stevie, you gonna put up or shut up?”  He asked, hands settling on his hips expectantly.  Steve’s cheeks went that same shade of red they’d been in the elevator, before his jaw set with determination.  A small jolt of adrenaline went through Bucky as Steve caught his jaw and leaned over as much as his secured feet would allow.  Bucky met him halfway, and melted beneath the kiss.  It was not in any way platonic or a chaste peck that some people shared when forced under the mistletoe.  It was tongue and teeth, with their heads tilted just enough that Darcy (and Tony through the camera) would get a front-row seat.

“I fuckin’ knew it,” Darcy breathed once they’d broken the kiss with a smaller one.  Steve smiled sheepishly, brushing his nose against the tip of Bucky’s as the magnets released from under their feet.

 

 **~ =** **★** **= ~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me on [Tumblr](http://meshla-aphrodisia.tumblr.com/)!  I reblog a ton of Stucky fics and fan art, and I love new friends!


	3. Three French Hens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The bottom of Bucky’s stomach gave out when he turned into a room to clear it. 28 cots sat in rows in the room, all perfectly made with squared corners and a pair of handcuffs hanging from the headrail. Sam and Steve had beaten them into the room, and were hovering in one corner with their backs to Natasha and Bucky. Sam spared them a look, his expression a wide-open cavern of sadness. Steve was crouched beside him, his voice soft and low, too low to hear across the room though he was obviously attempting to placate. Above Steve’s head, he could see a little girl, no older than six with blonde ringlets tied back into a severe ponytail. Her blue eyes were wide and she had tears in them, and for just a second, Bucky’s heart wept. But he knew better. So did Natasha._

**Three French Hens**

~ = ★ = ~

_December 14th, 2018_

Bucky couldn’t recall the last time he’d been to Paris.  Well.  He could.  Sort of.  He knew he’d been in Paris as the Winter Soldier, both in the command of the KGB and HYDRA, but like most of his time with either organization, it was either suppressed or too fuzzy to really clearly identify.

But his last real memory of Paris was of he and his Stevie with the Howlies after they’d all been rescued from the Kreischberg HYDRA facility.  Of a curvy brunette in a red dress hitting on his Stevie in a smoky bar that she had effectively silenced by just walking through it.  Or maybe that had just been Bucky and the entire world disappearing as Peggy hit on his best guy right in front of him.  And Steve… accepting it.  Maybe even returning it a little.  He’d been honest when he said he’d felt invisible in that moment.

The logical side of his brain had known Steve was doing it to get a rise out of him, but the other side that was all run-ragged emotion saw threat and felt utter heartbreak that his best guy had moved on with a dame.  At the very least, Pegs was pretty, smart, and sassy as hell, as he’d come to find out once he’d staked his claim on Steve like some sort of caveman.  Then he’d gone and _died_ , and fucked that up pretty damn good.

“James,” the husky voice of his Russian counterpart drew him back from his own thoughts.  He blinked and glanced to Natalia Romanova.  No, she went by Natasha Romanoff now, her beautiful name Americanized and harsher on the tongue.  And he was James, now.  Not _American_ or _Loverboy_.  Probably a good thing on the latter.  Stevie had had a shit-fit about that one when he’d found out.  Just another lie Natasha had told him.  It had taken a solid six months to get the guy trusting the Widow again.  It had been awful.  He liked Nat, yeah, but he was in love with Steve.  Thing was, he and Nat worked really well together.  Just like Steve could anticipate his movements, so could she.

“Huh?   Yeah?”  He asked, blinking at those impossibly green eyes.  A smirk drew over her mouth as she bobbed her head towards the warehouse that sat on the edge of The Seine.  It looked like every other warehouse it was nestled by, except for the flash of metallic wings and a shield in the dark as Cap and Falcon dropped silently down on the rooftop.  As one, he and Nat slipped through the network of alleys to break into the warehouse.

“ _Y’know, correct me if I’m wrong, but if you’re a super-secret organization, wouldn’t it be wise **not** to spray paint your logo all over the place?_ ” Sam’s voice inquired through the comms in their ears.  Bucky huffed softly in reply, but had to agree.  Every fifteen feet or so, the HYDRA emblem stood red against the stone walls.  As he and Nat advanced towards the center of the disguised facility, his skin began to crawl.  Judging by the set in Natasha’s jaw, so was hers.  

“It'll be okay,” Bucky found himself offering, nearly subvocalized, knowing that his enhanced friend would hear it.  It had come as a damned shock to Bucky just how many people on Stevie's team were genetically enhanced (read: almost all).  Between the twins and himself sat Steve, Nat, and Bruce.  Throw in a demigod and an AI-turned-real-boy, and the Avengers were a merry band of science experiments and universal fuckery.

It wasn't okay.  Nothing about this was okay.  Bucky knew it the moment they found the fighting pit.  It was a dug out hole in the middle of the warehouse floor that exposed the dirt beneath.  Plumbing had been capped off, but not before the dirt had become wet with water and… well, Bucky didn't want to think about what came after _and_.  In the centre was a wooden post with chains hanging off of the top.  Even from where he and Natasha were situated high on the second floor walkways, he could see the nail marks embedded in the wood and he was pretty sure the darker parts on the post were not woodstain.

Behind him, Natasha was breathing harder, her eyes wide and unable to look away from the post.  She had found Bucky's flesh arm and was holding onto it tightly, like she was about to be dragged out of his arms again.  He may have been wiped and thrown back into cryo when their handlers had found them together, but Natasha hadn't been given that opportunity.  She had sustained the physical punishment for both of their transgressions.

“I… I _stopped_ this.  James, I stopped it.  I burned the Red Room to the ground, I swear,” Nat whispered, though he could hear the mounting unease in her words.  He turned and drew her into a tight embrace.  She didn't hug him back, but he felt the muscles in her back relax slightly.

“I know, I know ya did.  Just means someone in the KGB defected ‘fore you did.  Come on, girly, you got this,” he encouraged, releasing her and stepping back.  He knew she did; he'd trained her, after all.  It took her about half a minute to pull herself together.  Her expression hardened into something vicious and she gave a firm nod.  With Natasha’s resolve back in place, solidified by vote of confidence, Bucky led the way through the warehouse.  No.  It was a facility now.  It was the only way he could think about it.  This was a place where little murderers were created out of fleshy sacks of human beings; dehumanized, indoctrinated, robbed of their humanity…

The bottom of Bucky’s stomach gave out when he turned into a room to clear it.  28 cots sat in rows in the room, all perfectly made with squared corners and a pair of handcuffs hanging from the headrail.  Sam and Steve had beaten them into the room, and were hovering in one corner with their backs to Natasha and Bucky.  Sam spared them a look, his expression a wide-open cavern of sadness.  Steve was crouched beside him, his voice soft and low, too low to hear across the room though he was obviously attempting to placate.  Above Steve’s head, he could see a little girl, no older than six with blonde ringlets tied back into a severe ponytail.  Her blue eyes were wide and she had tears in them, and for just a second, Bucky’s heart wept.  But he knew better.  So did Natasha.

“Steve, don’t,” Bucky warned as he and Natasha slowly moved forward, fanning out to keep the girl contained and remaining armed as they did so.  With Steve and Sam’s focus on their companions, the girl shifted into action.  She kicked up into Steve’s jaw, knocking him onto his back, before barrelling into Sam’s knees to put him down on the ground.  She moved quickly through the room, heading to take out Natasha first.  From where he was, he could see the grief and pain that slipped across her face.

Nat waited until the girl was close before jumping into action.  She grasped a blanket off the nearest cot and used it to wrap around the girl once she was close enough, trapping her arms at her sides and lifting her off her feet.  The girl snarled and writhed, trying her best to break free.  Bucky felt panic rise inside of him as he bolted over cots until he was standing in front of the girl.  He kept her from kicking him by snatching her legs and tucking them under one arm against his side.  Her tongue moved, to curl around her incisor and that panic that had swelled inside of Bucky doubled.

“No, no no, don’t you dare,” he growled, sticking his silver index finger into her mouth to stop her tongue from releasing the false-tooth.  She snarled again, like an animal, as Bucky pinched the tooth between his forefinger and thumb and removed it as gingerly as possible from her gums.

“Jesus, what is that?”  Sam asked in a hush.

“Cyanide,” Natasha supplied as Bucky dropped the pill to the ground and crushed it under his boot.  Immediately after, the girl burst into tears, real ones that streamed messily down her face and mottled her skin red.  Bucky knew this.  He did.  He’d seen it frequently when he’d been a mentor to the little girls that finally reached a breaking point.  Grimacing at Nat, he shuffled the girl into his lap and sat down on the edge of a bed, arms wrapping tight around the girl.

“Shh… it’s okay.  You’re safe now,” he insisted softly, but it only made her sob louder.  He tried Russian, repeating the words, but she just stared at him anxiously, before bawling harder.  Steve grimaced and sat down beside Bucky, fingers touching the top of the child’s head.  The deep vibrato of Steve’s voice began, hesitantly at first, and tripping over some of the words.

The French lullaby drew the girl’s blue eyes up to Steve, eyelashes dewey, and her nose red and stuffy.  He stroked his fingers softly through her hair once she began to calm, though the tears still flowed freely down her slightly rounded cheeks.  Bucky felt the lullaby in his bones and began to whisper it as well, far more unsure than Steve was.  He remembered Dernier singing the tune to orphans they discovered after HYDRA had blown through a village in northern France.  The Howlies had done what they could to soothe and comfort until the SSR swept in to clean up and find the children homes.

The girl drifted off despite a valiant fight to stay awake, alert against the aggressors in the room that had shown her nothing but kindness. Bucky looked up to Steve, grimacing at the darkened bruise on his lover’s chin.  Steve barely noticed as he kept stroking his fingers through the girl’s hair to keep her calm, maybe even sedated.  At least, that had been the plan before SHIELD agents appeared in the door, armed to the teeth.  The girl hissed and curled her body smaller into Bucky’s chest.  He instinctively tightened his grasp on her and stood.  Steve was up too, shield out, and blocking the girl from sight.

Phil Coulson stepped forward beyond the assault rifles that were trained on the five of them.  Natasha and Sam flanked Steve, weapons drawn but at their sides.

“We’ve cleared the rest of the building, and Agent Johnson is working on pulling all the intel she can.  We will need to debrief her,” Coulson said calmly, bobbing his head towards the gap between Nat and Steve’s shoulders at Bucky.  At the girl.  Bucky held her closer, lips curling back to expose his teeth in a visceral snarl.  The protective instinct he felt for Steve took him over, by the target was the girl in his arms instead of his idiot boyfriend.

“No,” Bucky hissed.  Steve briefly turned his head to the side to catch Bucky’s gaze out of the corner of his eye.  Bucky shook his head firmly, twisting his body to protect the child in his arms.  Natasha was pressing her side hard against Steve’s, indicating she was in the same boat as Bucky.  Steve nodded just once and looked back to Coulson.

“She’s a child.  You’re not getting any information out of her, and I’m not letting her out of my sight.  Don’t argue with me about this, Phil.  I’m taking her,” Steve stated, words brokering no argument.  God, Bucky loved that tone.  He was going to fuck the hell out of his man the moment they were alone.  Coulson did not look impressed, and Bucky couldn’t help but feel smug at that.  Phil wasn’t a bad fella, he really wasn’t.  They shared a common enough ailment in the form of a prosthetic, and Phil had been the one to give Steve the intel that led them to their initial reconnection.

Despite the tense stand-off, Steve was the first to move, shield still up, body still blocking Bucky and the child in his arms.  He, Sam, and Natasha moved as well, heading straight for the door like a slow-moving Mac truck, with no intention of stopping.  It took a gesture from Phil to get the soldiers to stand down and let them pass.  Bucky kept himself turned in such a way so the child wouldn’t see the pit, where… well, given that she was the only one in the building, it was likely where she’d killed her ‘classmates’.

The group moved quickly to the building half a mile away where their quinjet was waiting, cloaked on a rooftop to get them the hell outta dodge when their mission was complete.  It was clear to Bucky that all four of them were _so_ done with the mission, and the little girl that was alert and watching every move they made from Bucky’s lap probably couldn’t agree more.

“ _Where are we going?_ ”  The girl finally inquired once they were in the air.  Despite her apparently young age, she spoke clearly and precisely in her native tongue.  It took Bucky a moment to roll the words over in his head.

“ _Home, sweetheart.  We’re going home.  What’s your name?_ ”  Bucky asked, words slow and carefully translated in his head.  The girl looked almost amused at Bucky’s rusty grasp on French.  She arched her left eyebrow in a perfect replication of Natasha’s.

“ _I am Asset Eighteen,_ ” she supplied quietly.  Bucky’s gaze flipped up to Steve as he sat down beside them both, and while Bucky could hide his expressions, Steve could not.  The rawness on his best guy’s face was evident - disgust at HYDRA’s complete inability to treat people as human being right at the forefront.

“ _Not anymore.  You deserve a name, just like everyone else,_ ” Steve replied, not missing a beat in his translation.  The girl looked to Steve with a curious expression, as if the concept of a name was unfamiliar to her.  Bucky knew the look well.  Assets were given numbers or code names, and the people around them were known by designations.  Handler, Technician, Trainer, never Tom, Dick, or Harry.

“ _How about Margaret?  We could call you Maggie_ ,” Steve suggested gently. Bucky peered down to the girl wrapped up in his lap, who had her little brow furrowed and was moving her lips to form the name that had been offered.  Pursing her lips, she looked between the two men and gave a firm nod of her head.  She curled close to Bucky, forehead pressed against the side of his throat.  Steve suppressed a laugh behind his fist, his eyes gleaming slightly as Bucky scowled at him.

“Hope you fellas know what you’re doing.  She’s gonna be a handful,” Natasha drawled from the pilot’s seat.  The reality of the situation hunched Steve’s shoulders and his eyes widened.

“Did… we just become parents?”  Steve hissed, which caused Bucky to suppress his laugh by biting down hard on the insides of his lips.

“Congrats, baby doll, it’s a girl.”

 

~ = ★ = ~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come check me out on [Tumblr](http://meshla-aphrodisia.tumblr.com/), where I post Stucky fanfiction, fan art, and filthy smut.


	4. Four Calling Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You _what?!_ ” Steve shouted into his phone, already pushing himself to his feet. Bucky felt his entire body go cold as he looked up at Steve, before getting to his feet as well. He dumped enough money to cover their meals on the table and gently nudged Steve out of the restaurant. They were already getting eyeballed by people around them, who were finally realizing who they’d been dining with. Once outside, with Steve still snapping into the phone, Happy pulled the backdoor of the limo open for them, and they were soon off, back home to the Tower. Steve hung up and was already breathing hard, his cheeks red and his brow furrowed in that line that only foreshadowed bad things.
> 
> “Steve…?” Bucky inquired, hesitantly. Steve took a few steadying breaths before looking over at Bucky. The absolute fear in Steve’s eyes gave Bucky tunnel vision, and his ears began to hum, drowning out any and all sound.
> 
> “They lost her,” Steve said over the noise in his head, which only prompted the noise to start roaring.

**Four Calling Birds**

~ = ★ = ~

_December 16th, 2020_

It had definitely taken some getting used to for the two super soldiers.  They were _parents_.  It was fucking wild.  Leave it to them to adopt a little girl that would have the same amount of PTSD than they did, only compacted into three-and-a-half feet of murderous terror.

Bucky felt the worst for Steve.  He’d gone through the same shit already when Bucky had come home after the Triskelion.  How their little girl kept getting her hands on sharp pointy things was beyond Bucky.  Much as he liked having a gun under his pillow, there was no damned way they weren’t locking everything up, including the kitchen knives.  Yet, she still managed to get her grubby fingers on weapons.  It took about six months for her to trust them completely.  Another three to get her to recognize her position, how badly she’d been treated, and what they were offering her for her future.  Safety, comfort, love.  All of it was available to her if she only accepted it.

Their Maggie did, after a while.  It had started off slowly, with her sitting down between them on the sofa one night, before falling asleep on Steve’s arm.  From there, her rigidity between them turned into full-on sprawling.  Bucky got good at braiding her hair without pulling blonde hairs out of her little head with the plates in his fingers.  Steve had cried like the sap he was when Maggie referred to them as _parents_ and _Dad and Mama_.  Bucky didn’t even care.  What the fuck was gender, anyway?  His best girl could call him whatever the hell she wanted.  Shut up, he didn’t cry.

Uncle Sam - _hardy har, Rogers, you’re fuckin’ hilarious_ \- got her talking about what had happened to her in the three and a half years she’d been with HYDRA.  With respect to how quickly Maggie was overcoming the shit she’d been through, Bucky was jealous as hell.  She was so damned strong.

It was why he and Stevie figured they could manage a night on the town for the first time in the year that Maggie had lived with them.  Stark had offered to payroll it, letting them have his standing reservation at Del Posto on 10th Avenue.  Very swanky, apparently, so he and his Stevie dressed to the nines.  It took all of Bucky’s considerable willpower not to mount Steve in the backseat of the limo they took.  Who could blame him?  The Star-Spangled Man was utterly delectable in a dark blue three-piece suit and a red tie that matched Bucky’s star.  He stuck with black, of course, old habits dying hard, though Steve had forced him to wear an equally red tie and pocket square.   _It’s a date, Buck, not a funeral_.

Bucky knew it was anxiety that made him want to lean towards black clothing; things that would let him disappear from view if he needed to.  The small box in his pocket felt like a damned lead weight, dragging his pants down to his ankles and the rest of his body with it.  He had no idea why he was nervous.  He and Stevie had come back from the dead, had found each other again against all odds.  What was he gonna do?  Say _no_?  Even with all that logic in front of him, Bucky’s flesh palm was still sweaty, and he blearily looked over the prix fixe menu without actually absorbing what dishes they were going to be served tonight.

“Awful quiet, Buck,” Steve rumbled from his seat to Bucky’s left.  Thank god for that, too, because if Bucky reached out with his right palm to hold Steve’s hand, the jig would be up.  He gave Stevie a tight smile all the same as his silver digits brushed over Steve’s knuckles before their fingers tangled together.

“Just thinkin’ ‘bout our Mags, y’know?  Been a while since we’ve left home without her, an’ Nat ain’t home with Clint an’ Sam to make sure they don’t blow somethin’ up,” Bucky admitted.  While true, it was only a small portion of why he was withdrawn and introspective.  Steve shrugged as he lifted Bucky’s hand up to kiss his knuckles.

“Worry too much, honey.  Even if Clint tries t’feed her pizza and coffee all night, Sam’s got a better head on his shoulders than that,” Steve soothed.  Bucky sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, but--”

“No buts.  She ain’t had an episode in two months,” Steve interrupted, leaning over to steal a quick kiss across their chairs.  A bit of the tension unfurled from Bucky’s shoulders.  Steve knew.  He was better at this whole familyhood thing than Bucky would ever be.  Maggie would be fine.  Barton might be strung up from the rafters when they got home, but his girl would be fine.

“Okay.  Okay, you’re right,” _as usual_.  Bucky peered at the love of his damned life, taking in the way he shifted to pick up his glass of wine.  He used to be so small, sickly, and he definitely couldn’t hold his liquor.  Hell, even if they drank a bottle of the wine pairing for each course over the next few hours, neither of them were getting drunk.  Well, Bucky might be a little toasted, but Steve’s body cycled that shit faster than Bucky’s did.  It was a damned miracle.  Everything about them being here now was a miracle.  Science, fate, didn’t matter.

His tongue felt heavy in his mouth as he considered how to address the lead weight in his pocket.  Part of him wanted to just blurt it out, demand that Steve accept the looming proposal or beg him to.  Bucky’d absolutely beg, without a second thought.  The other part of him wanted to make it good for Steve, make it perfect and _them_ above anything else.

“Steve?”  He asked hesitantly, chewing hard on his bottom lip.   _C’mon, Barnes.  You’ve fallen off a train and seen the monster in the darkness.  This is peanuts.  It’s Steve, for Christ’s sake._  But then Steve was turning that dazzling grin on Bucky, and he felt his mouth go dry.

“Yeah?” Steve prompted when Bucky didn’t do much more than stare for a solid minute.  He commanded his flesh hand to move to grab his wine, wishing like hell it was that Asgardian mead and would actually provide some measure of Dutch courage.  But before Bucky could open his trap to say what was on his mind, Steve’s phone began to chime.  Mercifully, it wasn’t an Assemble call.  As Steve answered, Bucky sat back in his chair to consider his plan of attack from here.  That was until Steve’s expression paled.

“You _what_?!”  Steve shouted into his phone, already pushing himself to his feet.  Bucky felt his entire body go cold as he looked up at Steve, before getting to his feet as well.  He dumped enough money to cover their meals on the table and gently nudged Steve out of the restaurant.  They were already getting eyeballed by people around them, who were finally realizing who they’d been dining with.  Once outside, with Steve still snapping into the phone, Happy pulled the backdoor of the limo open for them, and they were soon off, back home to the Tower.  Steve hung up and was already breathing hard, his cheeks red and his brow furrowed in that line that only foreshadowed bad things.

“Steve…?”  Bucky inquired, hesitantly.  Steve took a few steadying breaths before looking over at Bucky.  The absolute fear in Steve’s eyes gave Bucky tunnel vision, and his ears began to hum, drowning out any and all sound.

“They lost her,” Steve said over the noise in his head, which only prompted the noise to start roaring.

It had been a long damned time since Bucky had been terrified.  Oh sure, he was scared about asking Steve to marry him, and there was always a little bit of fear inside when they went on missions, but right now?  He felt utterly petrified.  At least he did, until the anger took over and he saw red.  Barton and Wilson were gonna be plucked and put on a spit the second Bucky got his hands on them.  It didn’t matter that Natasha might kill him after.  They’d lost his and Steve’s baby.

“How does someone lose a seven year old in the most secure building in the world?”  Bucky seethed.  Never mind that their girl had training in espionage and evasion.  That didn’t matter.  She was just a child.

“She was upset we went out, so Barton thought it’d be a good idea to cheer her up by showing her how to navigate the air vents,” Steve explained, which didn’t do a damned thing to calm Bucky’s boiling temper.  He realized the noise in his ears was his metal arm recalibrating, over and over again, betraying just how on edge hs truly was.

“M’gonna murder him,” Bucky said decidedly, with no humour in his voice.

“Friday’s on the lookout for her,” Steve replied, all but steamrolling right over the threat of death to Hawkeye.  Bucky sat in silence the rest of the way home, wishing to whatever deity was listening that it wasn’t December, and freezing outside.  If they’d taken Steve’s bike, they would have been back at the Tower already.  Instead, Happy was maneuvering the god damn boat of a limo through Manhattan evening traffic.  His metal fingers drummed impatiently on his own knee as he glared out the window, willing every car to get the hell out of their way.  Christ, it would have been faster to just _run_ back to the Tower at this rate.

In reality, it only took ten minutes to get from the restaurant to the Tower.  Barton looked about ready to pass out once he and Steve arrived on their floor, and Wilson was visibly paler than normal.  Much as Buck might have liked to march right over to the birdbrains and proceed to throw them out the nearest god damn window, Steve’s hand on his arm stopped him.  It didn’t stop Barton from ducking slightly behind Sam.

“Where did you lose her?”  Steve barked, his Cap voice firmly in place.  It was likely the only way his best guy was managing to keep a lid on his equally explosive temper.  The Avengers seriously had _no fucking clue_ how Steve was when he was really angry.  Bucky was Steve’s darkside.  Even he knew that.  But Maggie?  Maggie was a bottomless, black maw, for _both_ of them.  If something happened to her…?

“Over the gym.  She’s… she’s really fast!”  Barton managed to squeak out.  Bucky growled and rolled his eyes.  He shoved off his jacket and pushed it into Steve’s hands.  Rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt, Bucky pushed into their apartment and wrenched the nearest vent cover off of the wall.  Pulling himself up, he started squirming his way inside until he was army-crawling through the narrow passage.  No wonder Barton had lost his baby girl.  For his broad shoulders and meaty body, he had to go slow unless he’d slicked himself up with butter beforehand.  Maggie probably had no problem at all getting through the vents.

Bucky came to a fork once he was over the gym.  Holding his breath, he strained his ears and twisted his head back and forth for some sort of indication of where Maggie had headed.  It wasn’t noise that gave her away.  No, she was too smart for that.  It was the different tracks in the dust in either path.  To his left, the dust was smeared like someone had dragged themselves along.  To the right, naked footprints, size two.  He pulled himself by his elbows in that direction.

Eventually, Bucky came upon a server room, and he didn’t need to be the genius that owned this joint to know it was Friday’s mainframe.

“Miss Maggie, I must insist you return to your apartment.  Your parents are very worried,” Friday’s soothing voice settled through the room over the soft hum of her processors.

“Nuh uh.  They left me behind,” her little voice responded.  Bucky’s heart clenched hard, and he swallowed against the tears that stung his eyes.  Over the year, she’d lost some of her French accent, but it was still there, lightening the weight behind her consonants and rolling her R’s.  Soundlessly, Bucky moved through the rows of databanks until he came to the central unit.  Maggie was perched on her security blanket, the one she’d been wrapped up in once in the Red Room.  She was looking up at the main computer console like she was looking up to a real person.

“Only temporarily, Miss.  Adults sometimes need time to themselves,” Friday soothed.  Maggie sniffled.

“Nuh uh, they don’t love me anymore,” she whispered, so quietly that Bucky just barely made out the words.

“Oh, baby girl, no.  That’s not true at all,” he insisted as he moved closer.  Maggie huffed and drew her knees up to her chest.  Even with the obvious cold shoulder, Bucky sat down behind her and drew her up into his lap, arms wrapped securely around her, blanket and all.  Her sniffles got louder, but her little hand curled over his forearm, igniting the sensors with warmth.

“You left me behind, Mama,” she accused, sadly.  Sighing, Bucky pressed his lips down into her loose curls, nodding.

“I know, baby girl, but it was only so me an’ Daddy could have a romantic dinner.  I had a very important question t’ask him, an’ I wanted it t’be a surprise for you when we got back,” Bucky explained gently, flesh fingers carding softly through her curls.  Maggie twisted her head to look up at Bucky suspiciously.

“Don’t like surprises,” she replied petulantly, causing Bucky to huff out a small laugh.

“I promise, this was gonna be a good one.  But you scared your uncles real bad when you disappeared on ‘em.  Scared us half to death, too.  M’so glad you’re okay,” Bucky admitted, holding her tighter even though she was still eyeing him skeptically.

“I was just talking to Friday, Mama.  She’s on your side,” Maggie sulked, turning to glare at the console.

“I assure you, Miss Maggie, it was for your own good,” Friday replied, and Bucky was sure the AI would have rolled her eyes had she had ones that weren’t hooked up in the ceilings.  Shaking his head, he kissed Maggie’s head and leaned back to look her in the eye.

“Let’s go find Daddy, huh?  And that thing I said ‘bout askin’ him a question?  Don’t tell him, it’s a secret,” he said.  Maggie’s eyes lit up and she put her index finger to her mouth to make a shushing motion.  “There’s my girl,” he cooed as he scooped her and her blankie up.  He nudged his hip into the console.

“Thanks, Fri’.  You’re a doll,” Bucky drawled as he headed for the doors out of the mainframe.

 

 ~ = ★ = ~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come play with me on [Tumblr! ](http://meshla-aphrodisia.tumblr.com/) I accept prompts for drabbles and stuff.


	5. Five Golden Rings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The second they were on the field, Bucky knew it was gonna be a long damned day. The Arizona desert was blisteringly hot, and even the lighter fatigues -_ made from spacey material that Thor had gifted them from Asgard _\- were clingy and gross against his skin. The worst part was the invasion of… well, Stark had called them sandworms which Bucky has assumed was a reference to something, but he had no idea what. Either way, they were coming out of what looked like a sandy maelstrom: giant, white maggots with open maws that drooled with glowing green,_ ugh _, slime. How did Bucky know it was slime?_
> 
> _“Okay, Venkman, hope you got a boomer ready,” Stark drawled as he latched a hand onto Bucky's harness._

**Five Golden Rings**

~ = ★ = ~

_December 17th, 2020_

Whatever plans Bucky'd had to take his best guy out for dinner the next night and pop the question were thoroughly destroyed when the Assemble alert went off on their phones at four in the morning.  As soldiers, they were used to coming to full alertness between one breath and the next.  But that also meant a huge crash once the adrenaline had worn off.  Which meant no dinner date.  It meant tripling their already high caloric intake once they got home before sleeping a solid eight hours at least.  Depended on how long they were in field for.

Darcy arrived at their door just as they were leaving, groggy and dressed in Captain America pyjamas.  It made Steve blush redder than Nat's hair, but she only offered a smirk, a kiss to their cheeks, before pushing into their apartment to make sure their little girl wasn't home alone.

The second they were on the field, Bucky knew it was gonna be a long damned day.  The Arizona desert was blisteringly hot, and even the lighter fatigues - _made from spacey material that Thor had gifted them from Asgard_ \- were clingy and gross against his skin.  The worst part was the invasion of… well, Stark had called them sandworms which Bucky has assumed was a reference to something, but he had no idea what.  Either way, they were coming out of what looked like a sandy maelstrom: thirty-foot long, two ton, white maggots with open maws that drooled with glowing green, _ugh_ , slime.  How did Bucky know it was slime?

“Okay, Venkman: hope you got a boomer ready,” Stark drawled as he latched a hand onto Bucky's harness.

“Don't think I didn't understand that reference, Stark,” Bucky complained miserably, wiping the green goop out of his hair with his metal fingers.  He'd never been more desperate for a decontamination shower before in his life.  The last sandworm had all but blown up on him when Barton hit its writhing mass with an exploding arrow.  And Bucky was simply covered in the emerald saliva and little pieces of _something_ that he had no desire to identify.

Bucky felt the earth beneath his feet fall away as Stark for him airborne.  As usual, his stomach did an uneasy flip, and he sent a prayer in Thor's direction that Tony wouldn't drop him.  The Avengers had managed to keep the area contained to about two square miles of desert, and SHIELD agents were already cording off the area for drag and decon.  With the bird’s eye view, Bucky knew they were winning, which was a damned good thing because _ew_.

Drawing a small, silver ball from a pouch at his hip, he rolled it over lightly lightly in his metal palm.  Shifting slightly in the harness, Bucky took the pose of a pitcher winding up before releasing the incendiary device like a fastball.  It hit true on the side of one of the sandworms, sinking into malleable flesh and causing the vile creature to rear up from its fight with The Hulk.  It hissed and flailed, bending its spineless body upwards to latch onto Bucky’s feet.  Thank the fucking Thunder God that the disgusting things didn’t have any goddamn teeth!

“Stark!”  Bucky snapped, driving the heel of his boot downward to hit the worm’s… nose?  What _ever_ , the thing’s snout thing that was attached to his foot and managing to start pulling him and Iron Man down.

“I know, I _know_!”  Stark shouted back, as the thrusters in his suit opened wide to get them higher up.  As the creature’s mouth inched higher up his legs, he heard and felt the stitching on the harness starting to pop as the straps dug in painfully under his arms and across his chest.  He knew he was going to be bruised, maybe broken, but he’d rather that over being dinner.

“Stark!”  He shouted again, a bit more frantic this time.  His metal hand reached back and latched onto Stark’s arm, as the other drew out his sidearm to begin unloading the clips into the thing’s eyeless mug.  It barely even budged, far more intent on it’s meal than something as insignificant as being shot in the fucking face.

“I got it!  Jesus!”  Stark snarled, panic hedging into the engineer’s voice.  The thing was sucking him in, making it up to his knees.  Bucky made a mental note that if he survived being ingested by a sandworm, he was going to adjust the timer on his boomers.  It exploded a split second later and Bucky was released.  As the creature squealed and curled in on itself to protect the injury while it died, Stark and Bucky were thrown upward, like an elastic that had been pulled taught and released.

Bucky’s stomach did an uneasy flip as he felt the harness give completely under the strain, leaving him free-floating.  Floating, which soon reached its zenith.  For what felt like an eternity, Bucky was suspended in the air, though it was barely more than two seconds.  It was enough time to spot Stark still careening away, working to get his thrusters shut down so he could turn around.  Gravity, that sonuvabitch, started working against him, dragging him down to the earth below.  He twisted enough to get a glance at the slime-covered sand below.  His brain oh-so-helpfully supplied that he was just below the height where he’d reach terminal velocity before hitting the earth.   _Thanks, brain!  You fuckin’..._

“Fuck…” Bucky whispered, his insides clenching up as the slimy earth below briefly became snow and fog.  The sounds of battle faded into the steady chugging of an engine and train tracks, but he couldn’t hear himself or Stevie screaming.  Stevie.  Jesus.  Oh god, _Maggie._ His baby girl was gonna lose her Mama.

“Sweetheart,” he said softly into the comm unit.  Whatever chatter - _read: Steve screaming at anyone that could fly, and getting a variety of responses that equated to ‘pinned down’_ \- died out.

“ _Yeah, Buck?_ ”  Steve’s voice filled his ears, and he could hear the strain; that tell-tale sound of Steve trying his damnedest to hold himself together.  He could picture the hard line of Steve’s jaw, stubborn and refusing to believe Bucky was going to fall to his death right in front of him again.

“Marry me,” Bucky whispered, ignoring the wind whistling through his ears.  As the ground got closer and closer, the odd silence stretched on.  No sounds of battle, not the crash of thunder or anything that he knew was happening.  Just him and his best guy making stupid promises to each other like always.

“ _Yeah, jerk… yeah, I’ll marry you.  Took you long enough to ask,_ ” Steve responded weakly, his voice hoarse and low.  Bucky wasn’t sure if that was the comm or Steve, maybe it was a mixture of both.  He closed his eyes tightly, body tightening up to brace for impact.  Too familiar.  He couldn’t remember what it’d felt like to hit the earth before, how his arm had been torn off, or anything like that.  The trauma had knocked the memories clear out of his mind, and it had nothing to do with the Soviet’s and HYDRA’s versions of indoctrination.

Bucky’s lips moved a few times to give some snarky comment about _someone_ taking a nap for nearly seven decades, but the words couldn’t form on his tongue, much less escape his lips.  Steve said _yes_ , so Bucky could die at least a little happy.  His body connected hard with something warm and solid, before whiplash sent his head sideways.  The howl from The Hulk startled him, snapping his eyes wide to peer up to Big Green cradling him against his chest like he was a doll.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, you got no idea how glad I am t’see you, buddy,” Bucky whispered before they hit the ground together.  Hulk twisted and took the brunt of the impact with his back, which was probably gonna give him a huge case of sandburn.  Bucky was dizzy and an inch from vomiting, so rather than scrambling off of the Jolly Green Giant, he stayed put, breathing hard.  It didn’t matter that all he could smell was green goo and Hulk sweat, it was the best fucking smell he’d ever had the pleasure of sniffing.  And thankfully, the big guy didn’t seem entirely keen on moving straight away either.

Eventually, Bucky did push himself up, mindful not to dig his gear or his limbs into any of Hulk’s less-than-squishy parts.  He slid off the giant’s barrel chest and stood shakily at his side while he sat up.  Hulk looked him over, cursory, before he was up and running to rejoin the fight.  There was chatter in his comm, but it sounded so damned far away as he covered his face in both hands as the shock began to wear off.  It left him trembling from head to toe.  His skin felt itchy and everything around him was in too-sharp focus, overwhelming him.

He felt Steve’s fingers - _of course it was Steve, nobody else really touched him_ \- wrap around his bicep, squeezing lightly.  He couldn’t bring himself to turn around and fall into Captain America’s chest like he wanted.  Instead, he was frozen in place, breathing shallowly through his mucky fingers.  Steve was tugging him, forcing his feet to shuffle through the murky sand towards the quinjet.

Bucky stayed in that state for… he didn’t know how long it was.  Long enough for Steve to sit him down in the jet after giving him a quick wipe-off, for the rest of the team to board, and right up to the point where Steve was removing his gear back at the Tower.  He blinked a few times at Steve as he came back to himself.  Steve must have realized the change, because he gave him a tight-lipped smile and touched his cheek.

“Hi, honey.  We’re home, you’re safe, and the mission was successful.  We’re gonna have a decon. shower now, okay?” Steve offered soothingly, which had Bucky melting into him without another thought.  Even the twinges from the bruises spanning his chest and shoulders didn’t keep him from seeking the comfort of Steve’s embrace.

“Steve…” he breathed in reverently as he spoke, fingers moving up to curl against skin.  Oh.   _Oh_.  Steve was naked.  That would make sense, given the shower they were about to have.  He was soon naked too, as Steve pushed his tactical pants down to his ankles and all but lifted Bucky out of them.  Stevie hissed softly, fingers barely brushing the worst of the bruising under Bucky’s arms.  The seam that garnished his prosthetic was red and angry.

A few more steps followed into the contamination unit before the glossy blue foam started moving up their legs.  Bucky closed his eyes and fell into a half-parade rest that fanned out his fingers and toes with his arms in the air in order to get the foam everywhere.  As the foam got to his face, he held his breath.  Mercifully, it only took another few seconds before the shower heads above them switched on and started to rinse them off.

“So,” Steve started, in a tone that made Bucky want to hunch his shoulders a little.  He cracked an eye open and relaxed when Steve merely grinned at him, crooked.  However, Steve’s eyes were a little darker, and there was a pucker between his eyebrows where his worries always lay.

“ _That’s_ your idea of a proposal?”  Steve drawled, trying to ease them out of the near-death experience.  It helped, a little.  Had Bucky been at fault for his close-call, he’d be getting an earful, but what he’d done with Stark was a maneuver they’d performed before.  How were they supposed to know that the sandworms had brains that could help them identify the larger threat?

Bucky huffed out a laugh and gave a sheepish shrug.

“It’s us, ain’t it?”  Bucky asked with a weak smile.  Sighing, Steve pulled him back in for a hug as the water continue to rain down around them.  Bucky sighed, fingers curling around Steve’s dog tags as he nosed up under his chin.

“Gonna start makin’ _you_ wear a ‘chute if you’re gonna pull those sorta stunts on me,” Steve grumbled.   _So much for not getting a lecture_ , Bucky thought though he smiled softly against Steve’s throat.

“Shut it, punk, you’re in no place to complain,” Bucky responded flatly, teeth grazing across Steve’s collarbone.  Steve was hissing again, though for an entirely different reason.  His hands wandered south, each getting a handful of Bucky’s ass.  An index finger was already using the water from the shower to push into Bucky’s crease, and teasing over his hole.  Shamelessly, Bucky groaned and bent his spine invitingly.

“You sure?”  Steve murmured, his free fingers moving up to brush over the bruising on his back.  He shifted slightly with a shrug.

“I nearly died, Steve.  Life-affirming sex is definitely on the menu right now,” Bucky insisted as he dug his silver fingers into Steve’s shoulder and nipped a bit harder on his throat.  Steve practically growled as he gripped Bucky’s arm and twisted him around to pin his front to the containment unit wall.  Teeth dug into the spaces around the bruises and two fingers pushed against Bucky’s hole once more, coaxing the muscles loose before sliding in.  He whined as his hands scrabbled for purchase on the slick wall.  The touches that were bordering on just this side of aggressive were exactly what he needed.

There were no need for words now as Bucky bent slightly at the waist, widening his stance to open himself up for Steve.  His cock throbbed a few times before it stood hard, rubbing against his belly with each trembling shift of his hips.  He was panting already, moaning whenever Steve hooked his fingers and swirled the calloused tips over his prostate.  Teeth were dragging up Bucky’s spine, stopping here and there to bite just a little harder.  He rocked his hips back against Steve’s fingers, urging them deeper, keening for more already.  Steve hummed as he nosed passed the hairs at Bucky’s neck to bite there, too.

“Y’think you can just ask a fella t’marry you while you’re fallin’ outta the sky, jerk?”  Steve growled, which made every inch of Bucky’s flesh hum to life.  Steve pushed his ring finger inside as if to make a point, though it only made it harder for Bucky to process what was being said to him.

“Y’said yes,” Bucky rasped, teeth biting down roughly on his bottom lip as Steve licked down to the crook of his neck.  Steve bit there too, wrenching half a sob from Bucky in the process.  Steve hummed as he dragged his teeth off the skin, leaving the twin, red crescents of teeth marks in Bucky’s skin behind.

“Tryin’ t’make an honest fella outta me, sweet thing?”  Steve teased huskily, fingers stretching and scissoring inside of Bucky’s hole.  He moaned weakly but couldn’t stitch any words together to sass his lover back.  Steve’s free hand curled over Bucky’s shoulder, holding him steady in his bent position as his fingers started to move.  The slice of pain from the stretch was nothing in comparison to how good Steve played his body.

Bucky cried out as Steve abused that sensitive gland inside of him, teasing it, dancing his rough fingertips over it to the point where Bucky’s cock was going to explode, he was sure.  Everything from his shoulders to his knees was tingling and overheated, and he was aware of the precome slipping of him steadily.  Barely.  His brain was fuzzy and while he was sure he was making sounds, he had no idea what he was saying.

Steve pulled his fingers out just as he was ramping up to come.  He must have made an unhappy noise, because Steve began to stroke his hip softly.  His metal hand was pressing dents into the unit’s wall while the other continued to slip and squeak without finding purchase.  Bucky’s brain shorted out the rest of the way as the blunt head of Steve’s cock breached his hole, stretching him steady and slow around the girth.  Bucky’s jaw went slack and his eyes rolled up into the back of his head, losing himself to the sensation of Steve filling him up so nice.

Bracing his shoulder into the wall, Bucky twisted himself around just slightly so he could watch Steve.  The man was beautiful to watch.  From the heat of the water, or what they were doing, his skin was red down to his navel, and every muscle was standing in stark relief beneath that ruddy hue.  His beautiful eyes were shut against the falling water, and blond locks looked darker with the saturation, slick against his forehead.  The silver tags shifted against his pecs, clanking together with that familiar rhythm when Steve finally began to move inside of him.  Bucky was dimly aware of Steve bruising his hip and his shoulder with his fingers, but he could hardly care.  Bite marks, hickeys, fingermarks, Bucky wanted them all.

The hot glide of Steve inside of him was maddening, especially with the punk purposefully avoiding where it felt best.  Bucky whined and tried to shift to get that perfect angle, but Steve held him steady, increasing his pace as his hips rolled.  Bucky couldn’t risk letting go of the wall for more than a second, knowing that if he let go of the anchor, he’d crumple to the ground unsteadily.

“St-Steve… Stevie, baby, c’mon, _c’mon_ … please,” he groaned urgently, testing the grip on his hips with a roll of his own.  There was very little give, and Steve stilled him by teasing at the top of his hole with his thumb.  Bucky sucked in a shallow breath and did as Steve wanted, bracing himself, locking his knees.  Finally, Steve gave in and bent forward over Bucky’s back, lips pressed against a shoulder blade.  It brought the tip of Steve’s cock right up against Bucky’s prostate, dragging across it and then deeper with every thrust.

“So good, fuckin’ good, Steve,” Bucky babbled eloquently, happily repeating himself since no other words were coming to him.  Steve groaned as his teeth dragged up the side of Bucky’s neck to tug at the conch of his ear.

And that was it for Bucky.  That one little tug and the brush of the backs of Steve’s fingers across the length of his cock tipped him over the edge.  He howled into the wall, silver fingers digging harder into the structure but not breaking through.  Steve gripped his dick, stroking it several more times to urge his orgasm to stick around.  Steve’s hips began to jerk erratically against Bucky’s ass, his breathing shaky next to Bucky’s ear.  Steve groaned his name throatily before stilling, pumping his heat deep inside.

They stayed like that for a time until Steve began to soften and withdrew with little more than a grunt of protest from Bucky.  Bucky was cradled firmly into Steve’s chest, not untouched even once, even for a moment, as the water continued to rain around them.

It was in that moment that Bucky remembered the little box that had been a weight in his pocket since the day before… the one that was currently going through decontamination as it had been in his tac-pants pocket.

“FUCK!”

 

~ =  ★ = ~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My name on **[Tumblr](http://meshla-aphrodisia.tumblr.com) ** is Aphrodisia, and I like warm hugs!


	6. Six Geese A-Laying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Ugh, it’s disgusting. Steve is such a sweet man. And drop dead gorgeous. What’s he doing with some ugly tramp?” One of the gaggle scoffed. Maggie had just about had it. Straightening her back, she twisted on her heel and marched herself right over to the ladies, glower firmly in place._
> 
> _“I’ll have you know that my Mama is beautiful!” She snapped bitterly, fists on her hips and eyes narrowed on the women. At least a few of them seemed somewhat embarrassed for being called out on their catty behaviour, especially by a child. Another just rolled her eyes._
> 
> _“Mama has long brown hair and pretty blue-grey eyes, and you don’t even know! You don’t deserve to know my mother,” Maggie continued angrily, jabbing a finger in the belly of the one that had rolled her eyes._
> 
> (It's just a quick piece (hence the quick update), because it was too adorable to pass up!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based loosely on **[this post](http://dean-sexy-winchester.tumblr.com/post/128879990286/okay-imagine-steve-and-buckys-kid-calling-steve)**  that I found on Tumblr.

**Six Geese A-Laying**

~ = ★ = ~

_December 18th, 2021_

The last day of school!  Her first full year in a private school had finally come to a close, and Maggie was tentatively excited.  The first few years of her free life with Mama and Daddy had been hard.  She was angry all the time, and being near anyone but her parents made her agitated to the point of violence.  But she was better.  She knew so.  Auntie Nat said so.  She could be around her Uncles and Aunts - _the Avengers, as she had eventually discovered_ \- without wanting to hit anything, and she had even come to accept physical contact once they’d asked permission for a hug.

With one good year under her belt, Maggie had been enrolled in a private school that ensured the confidentiality of the children and their parents.  It had been a difficult adjustment.  There were just… so many children around her, that had no interest in fighting or learning how to escape the school unnoticed.  ( _Mama had been so proud; Daddy about broke a blood vessel in his forehead that day._ )  But it was nice.   She didn’t have to kill anyone.  She was there to learn, not infiltrate.

Maggie’s heavy parka helped to keep the biting winter wind at bay as she stood just inside the school’s fence, her hands curled around the straps of her _Star Wars_ backpack.  In spite of not needing to worry about being attacked or attacking someone else, she was aware of the people moving around her.  A gaggle of mothers - _trophy wives, explained Uncle Clint_ \- were chatting amongst themselves to her right, and she knew they were talking about her.  It was pretty evident by how they kept glancing her direction and whispering _Captain America_ or _Steve Rogers_ amongst themselves.  Not to mention that Maggie’s hearing was excellent...

“Did we ever discover who the mother is?”  One of them asked - a tacky brunette with a bad nose job and an overpriced coffee in her hand.  She was dressed in a bright pink skiing outfit, but Maggie could tell by the size of her ankles that she’d never set foot on a set of skis.

“No, the lucky bitch.  That man makes my mouth water,” another giggled; orange skin from a tanning bed, platinum blonde hair, nose job.  Maggie was sensing a trend.

“I bet she’s homely.  We’ve all seen Steve’s pictures from before the war.  And that Peggy Carter!  My god, her _hips_ , Monica.  I’m surprised she didn’t hipcheck her way through Nazi Germany,” another laughed, nudging her bony hip into ‘Monica’s’ side.  Maggie had seen pictures of Daddy from Before.  He had been small, yes, fragile and breakable, but he’d been pretty and stubborn just like he was now.  Maggie’s jaw set in a firm line, brow furrowing beneath the red, white, and blue beanie on her head; a gift from Uncle Sam.

“Ugh, it’s disgusting.  Steve is such a sweet man.  And drop dead gorgeous.  What’s he doing with some ugly tramp?”  One of the gaggle scoffed.  Maggie had just about had it.  Straightening her back, she twisted on her heel and marched herself right over to the ladies, glower firmly in place.

“I’ll have you know that my Mama is beautiful!”  She snapped bitterly, fists on her hips and eyes narrowed on the women.  At least a few of them seemed somewhat embarrassed for being called out on their catty behaviour, especially by a child.  Another just rolled her eyes.

“Mama has long brown hair and the prettiest eyes, and you don’t even know!  You don’t _deserve_ to know my mother,” Maggie continued angrily, jabbing a finger in the belly of the one that had rolled her eyes.  Bad liposuction job, obviously, as her finger met mushy skin and sank in before the woman recoiled.

“Baby girl…?”  Mama inquired from behind her.  She felt a wave of embarrassment fill her as she turned around to look up at him with a wince.  The women were doing the same, and she heard more than one suck in a breath of surprise.

“Hi, Mama,” Maggie greeted sheepishly, moving towards him hesitantly.  He was pinching a cigarette between his silvery fingers, leaving them openly on display.  A warning as much as it was a threat.  Mama was armed, too, but that wasn’t shocking.  It was only at home that he wasn’t.  Once she was close enough, Maggie was scooped up in his arms and set on his hip, while he pinched off the cigarette and tucked it into his pocket.  Maggie’s fingers immediately went to fussing at the long curl that always slipped free of Mama’s ponytail behind his ear.

“Whatcha doin’, baby girl?  You bein’ nice to these ladies?”  Mama inquired, brow arching expectantly.  A blush overwhelmed her cheeks and she tucked her head down into the fur-lined lapels of her mother’s leather coat.

“No, Mama, they were bein’ nasty.  They called you a tramp,” Maggie tried to explain, her voice wavering slightly.  She wouldn’t cry.  She hadn’t cried in a long, long time.  But that sticky feeling in her throat and the tightness in her chest was there.  He clicked his tongue and nuzzled the top of her head.  The women had completely blanched.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, Mags.  Some people are just idiots,” he consoled before smiling, all teeth - all threat - at the women.

“Ladies,” Mama may as well have hissed the word.  “Pleasure t’meet you.  I’m Bucky,” he greeted coldly, patting a hand on Maggie’s hip as he approached and held the metal hand out to shake their hands.  Not one of them moved, so he made a show of dropping his hand to his side.  He looked to Maggie with a mockingly confused face.

“Guess I _am_ homely, huh?”  He inquired, even though he was starting to smile.  Maggie rolled her eyes and pat her hands on his cheeks before scrubbing the wiry whiskers on his face with her palms.  She giggled softly and shook her head.

“You’re beautiful, Mama!”  Maggie insisted, as he jostled his head slightly in her grasp.

“Aw, shucks, baby girl, you’re just too sweet.  S’go home you li’l nerd, huh?  Daddy was in meetin’s all day.  Y’know, real world-savin’ important stuff,” he explained, though that part wasn’t meant for Maggie.  “So, maybe we can make him them cookies he likes so much?”  Mama suggested as he turned on his heel to leave the women in the dust.  Maggie peeked over his metal shoulder at the women, who still looked horrified that the Winter Soldier was not only Maggie’s mother, but also Captain America’s life partner.  Maggie smiled in spite of herself and nodded against her Mama’s broad shoulder.

“The chocolate chip ones?”

“Yeah, baby girl, those ones.  We’ll make lots an’ lots.  At least three dozen.  Maybe you an’ I’ll actually get t’have some this time.”

 

~ = ★ = ~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BE AGGRESSIVE FRIENDS WITH ME ON [TUMBLR!](http://meshla-aphrodisia.tumblr.com) <3
> 
> Also, a gaggle is the term for a group of geese. And women like the ones above were probably squawking and honking about Steve despite their daughter being nearby. Yes, I'm stretching it on this one, but I couldn't think of anything else!


	7. Seven Swans A-Swimming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Behind her, six other girls were moving through the motions of their dance routine. They were sloppy, their limbs uncoordinated and lacking the proper rigidity needed for such movements. Further behind the other girls were parents and guardians, seated on benches with coffee and cookies._
> 
> _Maggie wanted a cookie._

**Seven Swans A-Swimming**

~ = ★ = ~

_December 19th, 2021_

The tutu was itchy.  It _itched_ and Maggie _did not_ like it.  It was white and fluffy, it looked beautiful as she twisted around in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirrors of the dance studio.  The gauzy, white fabric that was covered in little feathers and pearls, painstakingly sewed on by Mama and Daddy, swished and moved around her like a curtain.  She knew it would make the movements of her legs that much more graceful.  But it scratched at her, and she itched until her skin was burning and red with the friction.  Her nose was wrinkled up and she was frowning at herself as she flicked at one of the looser feathers of her bodice.

Behind her, six other girls were moving through the motions of their dance routine.  They were sloppy, their limbs uncoordinated and lacking the proper rigidity needed for such movements.  Further behind the other girls were parents and guardians, seated on benches with coffee and cookies.

Maggie wanted a cookie.

Turning her head over her shoulder, she eyed Mama and Auntie Nat.  They had a good amount of space at the end of one of the benches together, but it wasn’t for excess space.  Everyone else was pressed close together, and a few fathers were even leaning against the walls instead of sitting down in the vacant spaces.  Maggie knew it wasn’t because they didn’t like being near people.  They just didn’t want to encroach on the space of the two Avengers in the room, as if they might be threatened or injured by the pair with the darker histories than most of the others.  Maggie absolutely did not Google her adoptive family.  Much.

Mama and Auntie Nat eyed her right back with the same level of assessment.  It was something they all shared.  Instinctively, she understood it, but logically, it didn’t make sense.  There was a hardened edge, a silent way of easily communicating with the flick of an eyebrow or the jut of a chin.  She could read what was being said, but couldn’t communicate in return.  Still, with the way both adults’ eyebrows arched, she knew the question was _you okay?_  The easiest response was a lift of her shoulders and then making a show of scratching her legs again through the tulle.  Mama hid his smirk behind his styrofoam coffee cup.  Auntie Nat merely rolled her eyes and mouthed _suffer, sweetheart_ with a smirk.  Maggie huffed and rolled her eyes petulantly.

Madame Abigail entered the room, hair drawn back into a severe bun as usual.  Maggie knew she was going to have to do her hair the same for the recital, and the headache was already starting in anticipation.  Maggie loved to dance, but between feeling like ants were crawling all over her legs and having her hair pinned, pulled, and sprayed until it could deflect a bullet seemed to be more trouble than it was worth.  At least for now her hair was in a braid and coiled into a knot at the base of her neck.

“Ladies,” Madame Abigail greeted, the easy French lilt in her voice sending an uneasy chill down Maggie’s spine as it did every time.  The only saving grace was the soft way she spoke, rather than spitting curses and snapping orders.  She didn’t really remember what her family called _The Red Room_ very well; she’d only been six at the time.  It felt like a distant dream from a past life now, but just like Daddy and Mama, certain things put bits and pieces into perfect clarity.  Her back straightened and she moved with the other girls to form a line at the barre.

Madame moved back and forth up their line, calling out positions for them to move into.  She paused every so often to correct a form, though never once stopped at Maggie.  She held the positions without strain or losing her balance.  The facility had begun teaching her these motions early on, using it as exercise and education.  Auntie Nat had integrated into Maggie’s therapy.

After perhaps twenty minutes of warm-ups, Madame move them into starting position for their ballet.  As Maggie understood it, they were to be part of the ensemble during the recital of Swan Lake with the other classes, both older and younger.  They would have five hours of dress rehearsal the day of, before performing for friends and family.  It was the stupidest plan Maggie had ever heard in her admittedly short life.

Especially as two of the girls, Ashley and Julia, collided into one another while messing up something as simply as _left_ and _right_.  Maggie rolled her eyes and continued to _bourree_ around them until the music was paused and they were instructed back into first position.  It went on and on like that for the next hour and a half.  Ashley and Julia eventually figured out which direction was which, and the entire troupe even managed to get through the entire piece once without a single flaw.

Maggie huffed as she scuffed her feet across the floor until she was draped across Mama’s lap.  He laughed and stroked his cold fingers up and down her spine gently.  It felt nice, as it usually did when Maggie was overheated and sore from ballet.  Every muscle was in that odd space where it hurt but it felt refreshed at the same time.

“Get changed, baby girl, then we can go home,” he coaxed, but Maggie didn’t move.  Maybe if she stayed there long enough, Mama would take pity on her and simply carry her out to the car.  She’d probably ruin her outfit if she stepped foot outside in it, and it was very chilly to boot, but at least the itchy garment would be destroyed and she’d never have to wear it ever again.  Mama, apparently, wasn’t having it, as Maggie yelped in surprise when the fleshy part of her upper arm was pinched just enough to cause a faint twinge.

“Ow!”  She complained, but Mama was unmoved, merely rolling his eyes when Maggie glared up at him.

“Double-time, Mags.  Or Daddy’s gonna get into the cookies again ‘fore we get there,” he warned, which got Maggie moving.  Daddy could _not_ be stopped when he popped open the cookie tin.  Mama had to distract him with chores or working out.  She gathered up her neat pile of clothing and moved into the attached change room once it was emptied of the other girls.  It made her uneasy to be so vulnerable with other people around.

Sitting down on the bench, she propped each foot up on the opposite knee in order to unlace the ribbons around her ankles.  Her pointe shoes were a gift from Auntie Nat, black with red soles.  Maggie was dimly aware that she’d need to wear the boxed white ones for the performance, but these ones were for her.  She found comfort in their familiarity.  Peeling out of the costume was a chore, especially with her joints screaming in protest.  She managed, eventually, and took her time pulling on the soft, loose street clothes.  Draping her shoes over her shoulder, she zipped the bag up protecting her costume and carried it back out into the main room.

Except she paused at the door.  The music was playing again, soft and low, and there was a shuffling of feet on the ground.  Mama and Auntie Nat were dancing.  Not like how Daddy and Mama danced, wrapped around one another to something slow, or with Daddy looking at his feet when the music had a faster beat.  Despite Mama wearing combat boots and Auntie Nat being in her socks, they moved as if they were wearing proper ballet shoes.  They were both armed, and it was visible now within the empty classroom as they’d both removed their jackets.  Sidearms were tucked under their arms, in the waistbands, along with several other weapons that Maggie could pinpoint with a cursory glance.

Auntie Nat danced on the balls of her feet instead of her toes, but the movements were still graceful and may as well have been perfect.  She stepped around Mama quickly, but Mama caught her hand, his other hand against the small of her back, and they were off, twirling and swinging together to parts of the ballet that Maggie had not yet seen.

Mama chuckled something out in Russian, and Auntie Nat replied sweetly in kind.  Maggie could only assume it was sardonic response, because Auntie Nat punched Mama in the fleshy part of his side.  Mama wheezed, but didn’t miss a beat as he twisted her out and then back in, before dropping her in a dip.

“That wasn’t part of the routine, Barnes,” Auntie Nat scolded, though she looked amused if the quirked lips and popped eyebrow were any indication.

“You never done swing, _matryoshka_?  I’m improvisin’!”  Mama teased as he stood her back up and broke away.  She simply rolled her eyes again and went to gather their coats.  All three of them.  Maggie winced sheepishly as she crept out into the room.  Mama shot her a bright smile and took her outfit for her, flesh fingers wiggling at his side until Maggie grabbed onto them.

“Maggie, sweetheart, if your Mama, or your Daddy for that matter, _ever_ tell you they’re improvising, make sure you punch them really hard.  Right here,” Auntie Nat said before pointing directly at her own groin.  Mama hissed and cringed.

“Dirty pool, Natalia.”

 

~ = ★ = ~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come check me out on [Tumblr](http://meshla-aphrodisia.tumblr.com), where I procrastinate from writing (and real life) by posting Stucky smut, ficlets, and other various and sundry about the Marvel Universe.


	8. Eight Maids A-Milking (It For All It's Worth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Steve’s brilliant idea of going for reinforcements had left Bucky abandoned to the warzone by himself with eight targets, all with their sights on him. Their weapons of choice glinted in their clutches, eyes wild with whatever they had in store for him. The worst part? He was completely unarmed save for the metal appendage that glinted in the dimmed lighting. His black jeans and tank top were not about to give him very much protection against what surely awaited him._

**Eight Maids A-Milking _(It For All It’s Worth)_**

~ = ★ = ~

_December 20th, 2021_

When he and Stevie had decided, quite impulsively ( _big shock, Steve and Bucky impulsive?  No way!_ ) to adopt the little girl they found alone in the Red Room facility in Paris, Bucky never once thought it would come down to _this_.  A trickle of fear simmered inside of his belly as he held his ground.  The plates in his metal arm whirred and hissed; clinking together; recalibrating over and over again as he prepared for what was to come.

Steve’s brilliant idea of going for reinforcements had left Bucky abandoned to the warzone by himself with eight targets, all with their sights on him.  Their weapons of choice glinted in their clutches, eyes wild with whatever they had in store for him.  The worst part?  He was completely unarmed save for the metal appendage that glinted in the dimmed lighting.  His black jeans and tank top were not about to give him very much protection against what surely awaited him.

“Baby girl…” Bucky said carefully, his eyes settling on his sweet child, the ringleader of this entire operation apparently.  Maggie’s vicious smile grew wider as she shifted her grip around her weapon.  It sparkled threateningly and a cold chill slipped easily down Bucky’s spine.  It had been a long time since he’d been pants-shittingly terrified, but staring into the eight little faces of Maggie and her friends was getting him close to that danger zone.

“We just wanna make you pretty, Mama,” she cooed, like she was soothing a dying animal.  Bucky would very much like to die right now as he backpedaled a good two paces.  The girls advanced, taking a few more steps given the height difference, but still sufficiently cornering him near the only entrance.  If he just shoved the littlest one - _Julia, was her name?  Maybe?_ \- he could get out the door and get an Assemble Call out.  He needed back-up.   _God damn it, Stevie!_

Like they were controlled by a hive-mind, the girls pounced, wrapping around Bucky’s limbs and coercing him away from the access point and into the middle of the room.

This was it.  This was the story of how James Buchanan Barnes died.  For real, this time.

~ =☆= ~

An hour later, the front door opened.

“Girls?  Buck?  I’m back.  I got the pizza,” Steve announced as he stepped into their apartment in Avengers Tower.  Why the hell had it taken that man an hour to get the god damn pizza?  Bucky glowered where he was seated, wedged into the corner of the sofa, surrounded by grubby fingers and a scowl permanently edged on his grease-painted lips.  Oh no, it ain’t lipstick.  Cherry lip _gloss_ with _sparkles_ in it, _God, Mama, don’t you know anything?_  Sparkles.  Fucking everywhere, he was absolutely covered in them.

His metallic fingers drummed against the arm of the sofa before one of the girls sat down on his forearm to pin the whole mechanism in place so she could get the Barbie-pink nail polish on his nonexistent nails.

He was a god damn infamous assassin, god damn it!  And here he was, subdued by eight 10-year olds, covered up to look like a dame.  His cheeks were rouged, eyelids painted some god-forsaken iridescent blue - with more sparkles, of _course_ \- and his eyelids lined with thick black lines.  The nails of his biological hand were done in a rainbow with a little white daisy painted on his thumb.  And he was absolutely fucking covered in body glitter.  Every spare inch of skin, and even over the metal slats, had been given a thick coating of the stuff.  His fucking _feet_ had been given a once-over, to match the lime green and sunflower yellow on his toenails.  His hair was double-french braided, the stray pieces held in place with shiny, Captain America barrettes, and yes, more _fucking_ glitter had been sprayed over his head to keep everything in place.

This was it.  This was the story of how _Steven Grant fucking Rogers_ was going to die.  For real, this time.

Because that little punk was laughing his ass off already, and Bucky was going to murder his fiancé in the face.

Steve barely managed to get the pizzas and other various junk food down on the coffee table before he was doubled-over, cackling until Bucky was sure he was going to have an asthma attack despite the statistical impossibility.  Good!  Little fucker deserved it.

“Buck… oh my god, baby, what… Maggie, what did you do to your mom?”  Steve wheezed, tears draining down his reddened face.  He wiped his face with one hand roughly, managing to catch his breath.  But then he caught sight of Bucky and started laughing all over again.

“Just made him prettier, Daddy!  Doesn’t he look great?”  Maggie asked proudly, beaming up at Steve.  The rest of the girls turned a similar expression on Steve, who pursed his lips so he didn’t offend any of them for their hard work, and thus end up under their care as well.  Bucky bit down hard on his tongue.   _One_ of them covered in all this shit was more than enough.  He’d take it out of Steve’s hide later.

“Y-yeah, hah, yeah, baby girl, he looks real good.  How ‘bout we get some movies queued up for ya so you can eat your pizza, huh?”  Steve suggested, sputtering and huffing as he tried to contain his giggles.  Plied with food, the girls forgot all about Bucky, who all but dove over the back of the sofa.  He made sure the girls were all focused on the movie Friday started up for them, before giving Steve a two-fingered salute.

Marching down the hallway to their bedroom, he pushed into that, and then into the bathroom.  Not once did he spare a look at the mirror, because he knew he was going to be horrified.   _Scarred for life_ by what a bunch of children had done to him.  He was the Winter fucking Soldier for Christ’s sake!

Bucky grabbed the make-up remover toilettes and started wiping off his cheeks.  It wasn’t until he scrubbed his eyelids a few times that he chanced a look in the mirror.  Glitter.  Everywhere.  That was never going away.  The eyeshadow was gone, as was the blush, but the eyeliner was smudged a bit and his lips were still a deeper pink than normal.  He huffed and took another toilette to his metal arm, scrubbing furiously in and around the plates.  Christ.  How was he supposed to get Stark to do maintenance on this thing when it was covered in _make-up_?

“Lookin’ good, doll,” Steve purred from the bathroom door, most of the traces of his humour gone.  Bucky huffed at him, barely flicking him a gaze through the mirror before returning to his task.  The toilette was doing fuck all, and Bucky eyed the Waterpik on the counter.  That could get into all the grooves…

The washroom door closed and Steve’s fingers were pushing up Bucky’s back, beneath his shirt.  He mouthed along the tendons on the nape of Bucky’s neck, teeth grazing slightly over the skin.  The animosity Bucky’d been hanging onto fizzled out and he watched Steve curl over his back in the mirror.  He flattened his hands on the counter as a small thrill went down through his belly and into his core.

“S’all this, then?”  Bucky managed, his tone breathy despite the hard edge he’d been going for.  Oh well.  Steve knew that even when Bucky played hard to get, he wanted to get got.  Steve hummed as he pushed Bucky’s shirt up and off, giving him full-range over Bucky’s shoulders and spine.  He didn’t seem to even mind the taste of the body glitter either.

“Look good.  Just like I said.  Damn, doll, you even _look_ at your face?”  Steve asked, nuzzling up behind Bucky’s ear.  Bucky rolled his eyes and peered at himself in earnest this time.  The eye liner was slightly smudged, but nowhere near the way he typically applied his warpaint.  It made the steel in his irises nearly overrule the flecks of blue.  His lips were dark, appearing already kiss-bruised when he hadn’t done any kissing in at least two hours.  The arm was shining, almost glossy in the dim bathroom lighting.  Where his skin had been smeared with body glitter, it seemed more alive than the rest of his pale, scar-covered flesh.  His heart did a little flip in his chest and he saw a proper blush fill his cheeks.  Steve, apparently, was already intent on his mission, as his hands moved around to Bucky’s front and started pulling open his belt.

“Steve… Stevie, the girls…” he whispered, though it was only a half-argument.  Door was locked.  They could be quiet.  Spent years in a tenement apartment, in tents, and out in the wilderness having to be quiet.  Though they were so, _so_ out of practice.  Quieter with Maggie around, but they relied on the apartment’s built-in soundproofing and Maggie’s white-noise machine to drown out any slip-ups.

“Watchin’ _Frozen 4-Ever_ an’ eatin’ junk.  They’ll be wrapped up for ‘nother hour an’ a half,” Steve promised.  Master tactician, Man with a Plan... Bucky was marrying right.  He’d yet to meet a kid that wasn’t gaga over that franchise even after four movies, a few shorts, and more merchandise than even Captain America had.  Hell, even Bucky dug them.

“Christ, an’ the team calls _me_ the bad influence,” Bucky mumbled, shimmying his hips and stepping out of his jeans and boxers.  He turned around despite Steve’s grumbled protest and caught his mouth with his own.  Cherry lipgloss smeared between their lips, and Steve’s tongue was damned incessant as it licked the lipgloss until it was nearly gone from Bucky’s mouth.

Bucky’s hands were busy shoving off Steve’s clothes, though he only managed to get his shirt up to his pits before getting frustrated and starting on his pants.  Even then, he only got them down to the middle of Steve’s thighs before his fingers were curling around Steve’s cock.  He wasn’t slow or teasing.  They had a time limit, and people were close-by.  He’d rather not traumatize some kid and have to explain to her parents why she was catatonic.

Steve didn’t seem to mind, as he poured a moan into Bucky’s mouth and jerked himself into the circle of his fist.  Steve’s left hand was fumbling for the top drawer, yanking it open.  He pushed passed the back-up toothbrushes and toothpaste, one of Bucky’s sidearms, until he found the tube of lube stashed there.  With it in his palm, Bucky was hefted up onto the edge of the counter, which brought a weak yelp from him.

“Jesus, Stevie, s’fuckin’ cold, man,” he complained, squirming on the marble.  He reached for one of the towels hanging up and squirmed about until it was under his ass.  Steve arched a brow as Bucky settled.

“Are you done?  I mean, we got at least ten minutes now after you took forever fuckin’ around,” Steve said monotonously, waving his already-slicked up fingers at Bucky.

“You wanna sit on the cold-ass counter so I can fuck you instead, Rogers?”  Bucky rolled his eyes and pulled Steve forward by his shirt.  It jostled the dog tags, the little silver tags now joined by a small, white gold star with a red ruby in the middle.  Bucky briefly touched that despite the sass going between them.  His engagement gift.  It wasn’t like he could give his best guy a diamond ring or whatever, and Steve didn’t wear watches, which was apparently the “gift of choice” when asking a man to marry you.

Steve shook his head, his clean hand moving to settle over Bucky’s on the tags, over his heart.  The sass was gone, replaced by that soul-rooted fondness Steve had for him.  Bucky never got tired of seeing those deep-seas of love turned in his direction.  The kiss was softer this time, just slightly, but it didn’t take long to grow heated once more.  Steve stepped in between Bucky’s thighs, fingers gliding down behind his balls and then lower.  Bucky tipped his hips up, shoulders pressing back against mirror to get a better angle.  Steve hummed and nibbled over Bucky’s bottom lip, muffling the moan that came with a hard kiss as two fingers pushed into him.

“Stevie,” he hissed out of the corner of his mouth.  Steve groaned in reply and began to move his fingers, quick, scissoring them to get Bucky open as efficiently as possible.  It wasn’t long at all before Bucky was panting against Steve’s lips, hushed, whispers of praise and encouragement passed directly from his mouth into Steve’s; assuring Steve he could take another finger, he was ready, he needed him, wanted him inside.

Bucky slapped his flesh hand over his mouth when Steve finally gave him what he wanted.  His teeth bit down onto the fleshy part of his index finger, eyes closing tightly.  Steve gave him little time to adjust, already drawing back out to thrust down to the root.  Bucky was drawn further to the edge of the counter, his head craned at an awkward and uncomfortable angle.  It didn’t matter, however, because Steve was dragging his legs over his broad shoulders and was soon fucking into him hard.  Bucky whined against the clench of skin in his teeth, panting, groaning, dick bobbing against his belly.

“So pretty, made up for me like a dame,” Steve rasped softly as his hand curled around Bucky’s throbbing dick.  “Taste so good, too, doll.  Never gonna not need t’get my mouth on you if you wear this stuff again,” he admitted through the jostling of his steady thrusts.  Bucky pulled his finger out of his teeth and reached up to grip Steve’s hair, hanging onto a fistful.  He barely noticed the rainbow on his fingernails.

“Yeah?  Thinkin’ you just want me t’suck your dick with that gloss on,” Bucky whispered breathlessly.  Steve’s hips briefly stuttered before he groaned deeply and bent forward, almost bending Bucky in half.  He kissed Bucky hard, finding his rhythm again and matching it with his fist over Bucky’s cock.  The angle got Steve’s dick right where Bucky needed it, and his toes curled where they were hanging in the air each time his prostate was struck.

“Y-yeah, yeah, I want that.  Wanna watch ya do it, lips’re so damned pretty already, gonna come ‘fore you even do much if ya wear it,” Steve admitted, the idea obviously cranking Steve’s present arousal up to eleven.  Seeing the way Steve’s face was split with pleasure, Bucky couldn’t help but lose himself.  He was done a minute later, muffling a cry by biting down on Steve’s shoulder as he spilled across his stomach and chest.  Steve followed hardly two thrusts later, urgent and steady.

They didn’t get a chance to linger there.  Steve cleaned up quickly and headed back out into the living room so Bucky could shower the rest of the stuff off of himself.

And if differently flavoured lip gloss, liquid eyeliner pens, and nail polish started lining up on their ensuite’s counter hours after Maggie’s slumber party ended, neither one of them mentioned it.

 

~ = ★ = ~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come chat on [Tumblr](http://meshla-aphrodisia.tumblr.com)! I love getting headcanons, prompts, and "Imagines". :)


	9. Nine Ladies Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Can hear you thinkin’ from here, beautiful,” Bucky murmured from beside him in the auditorium. The seats were too thin for either of them to not be pressed against one another, their arms wound around each other’s and settled on the armrest between them. Steve chuffed a small laugh at the man beside him, fingertips absently picking at seams between each plate of metal. Steve didn’t reply. Wasn’t much he could say to the comment. Bucky had known him since he was a kid, knew his tells, knew when he was thinking too hard. Instead, Steve leaned forward to peer down the aisle at the rest of team… family. Everyone was in Natasha’s version of incognito. Hoodies, ballcaps pulled low, loose clothing. Longer hair was tucked up into the hats or under the hoods, and pretty much everyone was slouched down to make their height appear different. Except Thor. He was still head-and-shoulders above everyone else. This was Maggie’s day. The last thing their girl needed was for the Avengers to take the spotlight._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve's POV for this chapter! (For once.) Gonna do what I can to get the last three chapters out, but given the holiday, it might be a few more days after Christmas. But, Merry Christmas, everyone! Happy holidays, stay safe, don't drink and drive!

**Nine Ladies Dancing**

~ = ★ = ~

_December 21st, 2021_

The entire team had come in for Maggie’s recital.  Steve wasn’t sure why he kept calling them _team_ as opposed to _family_.  At this point, they were everything to one another.  Coworkers, teammates, sisters, brothers…

Ten years ago, he’d been pulled from the ice of the Atlantic, and he’d been alone.  To him, his Bucky had been dead only a few days.  He’d only put the plane in the ocean hours ago.  But the rest of the world had spun on, manipulating his legacy into further propaganda and forgetting the sacrifices made by all of them to ensure the future.

He’d been alone, lost as he tried to acclimatize to how the world had changed.  He’d been given all of ten days before Fury came for him; wanted him to put the uniform and do it again.  By that point, Bucky had been dead for fourteen days.  But aliens were invading, and Steve… Steve didn’t have a purpose.  It had been easy after that to fall into the role of Captain America, throwing himself into work with SHIELD (cum HYDRA, as he later found out).  Steve Rogers had been effectively dead, still frozen to his core, before finding out Bucky was alive in DC.  He’d been filled with righteous rage after that.

“Can hear you thinkin’ from here, beautiful,” Bucky murmured from beside him in the auditorium.  The seats were too thin for either of them to not be pressed against one another, their arms wound around each other’s and settled on the armrest between them.  Steve chuffed a small laugh at the man beside him, fingertips absently picking at seams between each plate of metal.  Steve didn’t reply.  Wasn’t much he could say to the comment.  Bucky had known him since he was a kid, knew his tells, knew when he was thinking too hard.  Instead, Steve leaned forward to peer down the aisle at the rest of team… _family_.  Everyone was in Natasha’s version of incognito.  Hoodies, ballcaps pulled low, loose clothing.  Longer hair was tucked up into the hats or under the hoods, and pretty much everyone was slouched down to make their height appear different.  Except Thor.  He was still head-and-shoulders above everyone else.  This was Maggie’s day.  The last thing their girl needed was for the Avengers to take the spotlight.

Steve twitched when a hand touched his shoulder.  Given he was in the aisle seat, the adrenaline came before he could stop it.  He glanced into the aisle, brow rising at the waif of a woman, no bigger than Steve had been before Project Rebirth, who had her small hand on his shoulder.

“Miss Abigail?”  Steve inquired, briefly dumbfounded.  She gave him a small smile and nodded.

“Captain Rogers, would you mind coming backstage with me?”  She inquired, voice soft to not raise alarm.  Bucky, however, went from relaxed to alert in half a second beside him.  Abigail’s smile did nothing to ease the former assassin’s nerves.  Steve gently pat the top of Bucky’s hand before untangling them and following Abigail backstage.

There were a good three dozen boys and girls practicing bits and pieces of their routine, all dressed in costumes similar to the one he and Buck had made for Maggie with Abigail’s pattern.  The one missing from the three-dozen kids was his little girl.  His stomach clenched and he felt his jaw tense.  Before he could ask - _no, demand_ \- where his little girl was, Maggie collided with his hip, arms wrapping around his waist.  He grunted and stumbled back a step before righting himself.

“S’a matter, girly girl?”  Steve hummed softly, fingers cupping the crown of her head while the other untangled her arm enough so he could crouch down in front of her.  She was dressed, ready to go out and cut a rug.  Nat had done her hair, pulling it up into a braided bun, and had done her make-up as well so .  Maggie looked like a little angel come to earth.  If it wasn’t for the furrow of her brow and the way she was sucking her bottom lip over her teeth, anyway.

“Daddy,” she mumbled before curling into his arms.  He rubbed her back carefully, and sighed.  He knew exactly what this was about without her answering.  The way she said his name was enough.

_I don’t know if I can do this…  
_ _Nothing to it.  You sell a few bonds.  Bonds buy bullets.  Bullets kill Nazis._

The version of an encouraging speech given to him wasn’t exactly a great one.  He’d told Erskine at the beginning when he finally received his 1-A that he didn’t want to kill anyone.  But the Senator hadn’t known that.

“Hey… you got this, honey.  What makes ya think you don’t?”  Steve scolded gently, looking up into her eyes.  Maggie rolled her eyes and huffed out a breath.

“What if I mess up?”  Maggie murmured, shoulders sagging.

“So what?  S’just dancin’, honey.  You dance better than me, an’ I’m eighty years older than you,” Steve teased, which got him a tiny grin.

“Mama always says you got two left feet when you’re dancin’ in the kitchen,” Maggie said quietly.  Steve nodded and blushed.  He’d never been able to dance.  Came from being small.  But he was better than he had been.  Bucky was reminding him how to move his feet, slow but sure.  Steve grinned and nudged her chin up.

“An’ y’know what?  No matter how many times I step on Mama’s toes, he still asks me t’dance.  An’ no matter what happens, you can keep dancin’ as long as you want to,” Steve assured, giving her chin a light knock with his knuckles.  Maggie smiled, the first full smile he’d seen since they left the Tower that morning.  Maggie wrapped her arms around Steve’s neck, hugging him tightly, and he returned it in kind.

“Thanks, Daddy.  I think I’m ready now,” she assured as she pulled back, giving a firm nod.  He grinned and stood up, tapping her nose along the way.

“Boogie down, baby girl,” he teased, wiggling his fingers before heading back out front to his spot beside Bucky.  Bucky had all but chewed the red polish off his thumb nail by the time Steve sat back down beside him.  Leaning over, he caught Bucky’s hand and drew it across his body to kiss the bitten raw thumb.

“Stage fright, baby, relax,” he soothed.  The lights in the auditorium went out, save for the spotlights on the curtain in front of them.  As it slowly rose and the music began to play, goosebumps crawled over Steve’s skin.  He was holding his breath as their daughter moved out into the middle of the stage and the ballet began.

 

~ = ★ = ~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My name on **[Tumblr](http://meshla-aphrodisia.tumblr.com) ** is Aphrodisia, and I like warm hugs!


	10. Ten Lords A-Leaping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Yeah. So Bucky’s dramatic proposal a year ago had… led to unintended consequences. It was partly his fault for wanting to make sure Steve knew he loved him, without coming over the comms and saying it outright so the whole team could hear. But he thought he was going to turn into a bloody divot in the desert, so who could really blame him?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I'll start with _I'm sorry_. I didn't mean to abandon this fluffy piece right near the end but life has a habit of getting a girl down. But, things are better, and this is the Christmas gift I'm giving to you, but also to myself. I hope you enjoy. (And there's some smut in there for you too, as an added apology.)

**Ten Lords A-Leaping**

~ =  ★ = ~

_ December 22nd, 2021 _

Yeah.  So Bucky’s dramatic proposal a year ago had… led to unintended consequences.  It was partly his fault for wanting to make sure Steve knew he loved him, without coming over the comms and saying it outright so the whole team could hear.  But he thought he was going to turn into a bloody divot in the desert, so who could really blame him?

Anyways, unintended consequences?  Darcy and Pepper going bridezilla on his behalf.  He’d (and Steve) had managed to avoid the majority of the ridiculous planning.  Their idea of a marriage was going to City Hall and rooting out the Justice of the Peace.  Their little girl could still throw flower petals, and they’d need witnesses, so Natalia and Sam could fill those roles.

Darcy and Pepper, however, were having none of that shit.

And was Bucky surprised?

Yes.

That there were people so invested in him and Steve to… basically throw them a wedding?  Sure, Darcy chided that it’d be on Stark’s fancy, black Amex, but the way she fangirled… well, Bucky was well aware she was the person behind the Tumblr blog  _ CaptainWinter _ .  There were some things that got posted there that only someone in their circle would see or know.

Steve, for his part, was utterly fucking useless in deterring the two women.  Bucky would cringe away from any wedding blog or magazine put under his nose.  Steve, however, would give it a studious eye and say something simple like  _ I like this but in blue _ .  Not.  Helping.  His fiancé was an asshole… and then he’d get all twitterpated, because  _ fiancé _ .

A century in the making and it was finally happening.  They were  _ allowed _ to and… and it was good.  It was such a good thing that he couldn’t help but get the dopey smile on his face, even when Steve said he’d prefer  _ ivory _ to  _ porcelain _ tablecloths.  The priss.

But the worst… the  _ worst _ part about the event that was now their wedding?  Thor.  Thor and an Asgardian custom that made Bucky so utterly unnerved… and of course, his stupid punk was all for it.

~ =☆= ~

“A warrior knows every muscle in their body,” Thor began, as he paced before the ensemble that had become the mismatched group of groomsmen and, well, more groomsmen.  The groomsladies had been disincluded, though it wasn’t a sexist thing.  It was an Asgardian male thing.  The ladies, however, were not going to be spared their own measures of embarrassment, thanks to Thor calling in Lady Sif for this particular emergency.

“They must know their center of balance, their footing, and what their limbs are doing at all times,” the Asgardian continued, thick biceps flexing beneath an all-too-sheer shirt.  In another life, Bucky would be climbing Thor like a tree.  As it was, he already had one asshole blond to contend with.

Most of the fellas in their ensemble were warriors, for sure… but warriors of different stripes.  Some had armour, some didn’t.  Some were good at hand-to-hand, others trusted in hyperactive speed or brute strength to land a bunch.

“Grace comes with knowing one’s body.  On Asgard, the best warriors are the best dancers.  It would be an affront for the best warriors of Midgard to be unable to uphold that tradition,” Thor said, pointedly looking over all and sundry.  Now.  Don’t get him wrong, but Bucky could dance.  Or at least, he used to be able to.  He knew ballet from the Red Room, and helping Maggie.  He knew how to waltz and tango, because those were sensual dances that the Soldier had used on honeypot missions.

But the sort of dancing that Thor was talking about was not at all in his wheelhouse.  So how’d he get talked into it?  The aforementioned pain in the ass blond that was absently swaying at his side, one hand in Bucky’s back pocket and a happy grin on his face.   _ For the weddin’, Buck!  Won’t it be nice  _   Bucky leaned close while Thor continued the dancing version of rousing his troops.

“Dunno why you’re so happy, pal.  Always had two left feet,” he groused at his partner, who responded by shushing him, jerking his chin towards Thor, and giving Bucky’s ass a squeeze all at once.

Before he knew it, they were standing in two parallel lines and attempting, badly, to follow the way Thor was moving.  It was some fucked up mixture of  _ Lord of the Dance _ and country line dancing.  The rhythm was easy enough - left forward, heel, toe, back, toe, toe, heel, down, right back, heel toe toe forward, toe heel.  Arms were supposed to stay at the sides, but everybody, including Bucky, had at least an elbow out for balance and they were all staring at their own or Thor’s feet.

When Thor began to speed up the pace, assuming his fellows were keeping up, that was when the shit hit the fan and they all went down like dominos - elbows and knees ending up in tender places that no man wanted a knee or an elbow.  Bucky couldn’t tell who went down first, but he was 99% sure that it was Stark.

Bucky groaned, a hand cupping his junk while the metal one, nice and cold, pressed to the developing welt on his cheek.  Steve, the bastard, was the only one still upright, having foreseen the travesty coming a split second ahead and was doubled-over, laughing his star spangled ass off.

“Sorry, pal, but who’s got two left feet?”  Steve drawled with a crooked smile, that normally made Bucky feel all warm and fuzzy inside.  Right now, however, it just made him want to flick Steve in the nuts.

~ =☆= ~

Barnes hissed later on in the privacy of their apartment with a bag of frozen peas and ice cream in between his legs.  The peas were for where Rhodey’s elbow had crushed his balls.  The ice cream was to smother his embarrassment.  He was the Winter Soldier, goddamnit, and he’d been taken down like a drunken domino.  So maybe he was putting it on a little, but he would be lying if he said it wasn’t to make Steve feel a bit bad.

The stupid punk had laughed his ass off while the ‘graceful warriors’ that made up the male side of the Avengers groaned in their painful puddle on the floor.  And he’d chuckled and snorted the entire ride up the elevator when every minute jar and bump made Bucky want to curl up and die, or throw up; or throw up and then die.

Steve had only started looking a little bit remorseful when Bucky’d shoved a bag of peas down his pants and gingerly lowered his body onto a couple of pillows on their sofa to moodily spoon his way through a pint of Chubby Hubby.  And he _ wasn’t _ going to share.

Steve knew the look on Bucky’s face, of course.  Iced out break notwithstanding, they’d been together a long ass time.  If Steve  _ didn’t _ know the look, Bucky would have probably been more pissed.

Once the pint was put aside, the peas were thoroughly melted, and his testicles didn’t feel like they were suffering from a case of elephantiasis, Bucky set the empty carton aside and tugged the damp bag out of his pants.  Doing his best to keep the glare away, Steve shuffled around him, flitting about to clean up pint and peas in record time.  Ultimately, Steve ended up perched beside Bucky, watching him in a way that was waiting for an opening despite the pin-drop silence between them.

“Still hurt?”  Steve inquired eventually to break the silence.  Bucky chewed the inside of his cheek and regretted it.  Right.  He’d ended up with a bruise under his left eye from Clint flailing like an octopus on the way down.

“Yeah,” he muttered, glancing over at Steve who gave him that hopeful, sad, puppy dog smile of his.  Damnit…

“Where’s it hurt?”  He inquired, innocently.  And just like Steve knew the glare, Bucky knew that tone of voice.  Nothing was ever innocent with Steve.  Because Steve was a shit.

“Here,” Bucky muttered, jabbing a finger carelessly into the bruise on his cheek.  Steve hummed and leaned closer to press his lips against the welt.  Closing his eyes, Bucky resisted the urge to lean into the press.

“Where else?”  Steve whispered, warm breath right near Bucky’s ear.  It seemed that Steve wasn’t waiting to be directed, however, because he was kissing slowly down the column of Bucky’s throat.  Brain murky with a sudden twist of unadulterated  _ want _ , it took Bucky a moment to mumble that he was fine, though he was chastised with a click of Steve’s tongue.  A large hand was already sliding up the outside of Bucky’s thigh; callouses tugging at the fabric of his jeans and hot lips distracting him under his ear.

“You know where,” Bucky eventually managed to respond, voice all gravel. His breath hitched as Steve palmed him as gently as could be done through damp, cold jeans. There was a faint twinge, the barest ache, but it went away a moment later as Steve’s fingertips began to roll softly, index and pinky, where he was cupping Bucky.

“Here?”  Steve inquired, that damned chaste tone at odds with the utterly lewd way he was holding Bucky in his hand, and tongue at the galloping pulse point in his throat.  The plates in his metal arm clicked and clanked together as he reached to tug Steve’s head up in order to get a proper kiss.

It was downhill from there.  Steve manhandled Bucky into his lap.  Bucky yanked his shirt off while Steve squirmed out of his own.  Those calloused fingers squeezed and dragged over scarred skin until they were forcing their way under the waist of Bucky’s jeans.  Bucky huffed and flicked open his jeans.  A million and a half years together, and the punk was still missing that crucial step.

When Steve’s hands pushed under his jeans, it took all of point-three seconds for Steve to get his feet under him, and another millisecond for Bucky to wrap around him.  The bedroom was too far away, but they made it relatively unscathed, save for a framed picture that clattered to the ground when Bucky’s shoulder dragged against the bottom.

Bucky groaned as his back hit the mattress.  Pants came off in record time.  Steve’s, anyway.  With the damp coldness in his groin, Bucky’s tighter jeans were. not. moving.  Steve pulled back and frowned down at them before grabbing hold and  _ tearing. _  That shit was hot in porn.  Not so much when the wet jeans  _ squelched _ as they were torn in a way that made Bucky’s nose wrinkle.  Steve just laughed as the boxers followed, tossed away on the floor with another wet slop.

“Gross,” Bucky mumbled, even as Steve slotted between his thighs, knees tucking up under his hips.

“You’re the one that shoved peas down your pants to try and make me feel bad,” Steve mused as he leaned down to bite down on Bucky’s chest.  The brunet hissed in response, eyes closing tight.   _ Shit.  Busted _ .  Not that he thought he’d really get away with the sob story of his broken testicles.  Even if Rhodey’s elbows were extra pointy.

Bucky didn’t have a chance to argue, because Steve’s skillful fingers were pushing into him, already slick and cool.  The retort died on his tongue and ended up coming out as a raspy moan.  His knees drew up further over Steve’s thighs, and Steve was more than happy to fill the space with his big body.  Hell, even when the punk had been a tiny spitfire, he’d filled up the space between Bucky’s legs like it was made for him.  Maybe it was.  Steve was the one that believed in that fate and destiny bullshit.  Bucky… Bucky was most of the time still taking things one day at a time.

Steve withdrew his fingers, a little too soon, but thankfully, mercifully, replaced it with something much girthier.  Bucky hissed as Steve pushed into him and all the aches went away.  Pleasure shoved away any of the dull twinges in his balls, and the constant ache of his left side.  Maybe it was the serum, or just the way he’d been trained for several decades, but every sense was honed in on Steve.

It was that same focus that had his heart skipping beats and golden heat lancing down his belly to his core.  Steve just had a knack for twisting his hips just the right way, just when Bucky needed it most.  He also had a knack for missing the mark on purpose.

Because Steve was a shit, but Bucky could never stay mad at him.

~ =  ★ = ~


	11. Eleven Pipers Piping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Bucky wasn’t so much of a dick to want a wedding on Christmas Day. But he’d been tempted. Because marrying Mister Fourth of July on Christmas Day was both hilarious and romantic and all that other silly, sappy shit that came with Hallmark made-for-TV movies. Not… not that he’d been binging that stuff. No, he certainly hadn’t watched everything from A Royal Christmas to The Christmas Prince. Nope._
> 
> _Riiiiiiight…_

**Eleven Pipers Piping**

~ =  ★ = ~

_ December 24th, 2021 _

Bucky wasn’t so much of a dick to want a wedding on Christmas Day.  But he’d been tempted.  Because marrying Mister Fourth of July on Christmas Day was both hilarious and romantic and all that other silly, sappy shit that came with Hallmark made-for-TV movies.  Not… not that he’d been binging that stuff.  No, he certainly hadn’t watched everything from  _ A Royal Christmas _ to  _ The Christmas Prince _ .  Nope.

_ Riiiiiiight… _

Thankfully, Pepper and Darcy, while being amazing boss ladies, were apparently also mind readers.  Bucky’d been lucky enough to get a sneak peak at the room they were having the reception in.  Sure, they’d wanted something small, and subdued, but… but the room was gorgeous.  It looked like Christmas had puked just about everywhere, in every corner of the Stark Tower ballroom.  Delicately lit Christmas trees twinkled in the corners.  Fairy lights hung from the ceiling like icicles.  The tables were adorned with crimson and evergreen, holly and so much glitter that Bucky knew he’d never be rid of the stuff for the rest of his life.

But it was perfect.  Utterly, beautifully perfect.

It was a shame that, unfortunately, the Avengers press agents had insisted on some coverage.  And Pepper had insisted on certain delegates and associations be represented as well as a sign of good faith and open dialogue.  At least Bucky wouldn’t have to talk to them.

Bucky stood in one of the side rooms on the ballroom’s floor, fiddling with his tie anxiously.  He hadn’t worn his military dress uniform in almost eighty years.  It had taken a huge donation and the threat of getting lawyers involved to have the Smithsonian release their dress uniforms for the wedding. Suffice to say, it was a little tight, despite the tailor having fiddled with the old stitching and old fabric for over a month.

Natalia curled her arm through Bucky’s and leaned against his side, cheek on his shoulder.  Intent, green eyes tracked his every movement in the mirror as he tugged the tie loose again and set to redoing the knot for the thirteen-hundredth time.

“You know he’s going to be there, right?”  She inquired, softly.  Anybody else would have seen the quirk at the corners of Nat’s lips and assumed she was teasing them.  Not Bucky though.  He saw the small pinch between her brows, and he felt the way she squeezed the crook of his elbow reassuringly.

“Course… course he’s gonna be there,” Bucky replied, though he grimaced at the way the words sniped out of his fool mouth.  Thankfully, Nat knew him better than almost anyone else and merely pulled away long enough to take over tie-tying duty.

“If he bails on you, I’ll kill him,” she added simply, as her fingers expertly twisted the old tie into a perfect windsor knot that hung to just the right length and made his stress level take a bit of a nosedive.  Or maybe it was the nonchalant way that his best friend threatened to murder Steve if he jilted Bucky.  Sure, best friends were required to say that sort of thing.  Natalia would actually go through with it.

“Thanks,” he murmured quietly as she took the rest of the way over and started pinning his bars and medals on it.  Bucky had been resistant to the bars and medals.  They weren’t his, not really.  They belonged to the man he used to be.  It had taken Steve gently reminding him that  _ his _ time as a POW before  _ his  _ plummet off the train had given him some of those medals, along with everything that came after it.  Still, as Nat straightened his bars and set to pinning the medals over his heart, part of him still felt reluctant to wear them and a tiny pit of dread developed in his belly.

Nat pinned the last medal into place and smoothed them out with her hand and a soft  _ there _ .  His metal fingers tapped one of the service badges and he took another look in the mirror.  He was a different man, sure, but also the same one he’d been before, just… just a little more world weary and a lot wiser.  His long hair was pulled back into a neat bun, definitely not uniform spec, but as he put his cap on, at the angle it used to sit at, his heart flipped.  There was the old Buck, the idiot that was head over heels for a fella and got himself drafted.

“Ready?”  Nat inquired after… well, he didn’t know how long he’d been staring at his reflection and searching his own eyes for an answer to questions he hadn’t asked yet.  Pulling himself away from the mirror, he nodded to his best lady. Bucky wasn’t ready.  Not at all.  He wasn’t ready to walk out in front of select press members and socialites and friends.  He was, however, more than ready to marry his best guy with their baby girl right there with them.

Their irregularly and large wedding party was waiting for them outside of the ballroom.  Bucky could hear the chatter from inside - the dull roar of too many people in an enclosed space.  His stomach twisted into knots as Nat all but pulled him towards the rest of their peculiar family.  All of it went away, though, when he spotted Steve, dressed in his uniform, all his medals on display, with Maggie in her poofy Christmas red dress on his hip.  Her hair was in tight ringlets with the top being utterly ruined by Steve’s hat.  He broke off from Nat to beeline for his partner and their daughter, gathering them up close as soon as he got near.

“Buck,” Steve whispered in awe, his expression rounding and his eyes getting that shimmery near-tears glean.  Bucky tamped down the lump in his throat and got on his toes to steal a kiss from Steve.

“Ready to make an honest man outta me, Rogers?”  He inquired in a muted attempt to ease the excited tension.  The awed expression disappeared from his lover’s face and was replaced with one of the biggest, crooked grins he’d ever seen.  No jokes came, no jabs about it being Bucky’s fault they were dishonest men, none of that.  Just pure joy shining like the sun.

“Sorry it took so long,” Steve replied, brushing down the definitely-not-spec whiskers on Bucky’s face with gentle fingertips.  “Better late than ne--”

Klaxons dropped down from the ceilings and began to flash red and yellow.  Maggie grimaced and clapped her hands over her ears.  It was the first time an Assemble call had come in, and the team just stared at the lights like they were screeching a foreign language that nobody could translate at them.

“Go on, you idiots!”  Darcy snapped as she jostled Maggie out of Bucky’s arms and cradled her close to soothe her from the loud noises.  That seemed to do the trick.  Despite the curious voices raising from inside the ballroom, the Avengers peeled out of the group and started for the elevators.  High heels were discarded in the hallway, along with clutches, bouquets, and anything valuable they couldn’t risk bringing on a quinjet.

~ =☆= ~

It was bad.  So,  _ so  _ bad.  A wormhole had opened up over the middle of the Atlantic and hideous, floating creatures were emerging.  Space whales.  The Chitauri.  And the Avengers were sorely unprepared.  One quinjet and only a couple people who could fly on their own power.  It was nearly impossible to set up a perimeter as the space whales floated around like hungry kites, and were flanked by even more hideous, zipping chariots.  

The Iron Legion was called in to assist in the perimeter and terminate anything that went beyond it.  Tony’s extras suits were repurposed as aerial surfboards, or a massive, quickly moving jungle gym that allowed the non-flyers the ability to move around airborne battlefield.  At one point, Steve had control of one of the Chitauri chariots. If by control meant bringing it into a kamikaze dive towards the water.  He was saved at the last second by Mark XLI from the icy plunge.

Seven hours and thirty-six minutes later, the wormhole was closed with the assistance of Sif and Thor both desperately calling for some fella named Heimdall.  Somehow, the fella managed to open up his own Rainbow Bridge right under the Chitauri portal to send them in an infinite loop from their universe back into their own universe.

The exhausted Avengers hung around until the Chitauri gave up and withdrew.  The portal closed with a shallow sucking sound, followed by a hollow pop.

~ =☆= ~

_ December 25th, 2021 _

“I never want to move again,” Clint groaned as he stumbled first into the ballroom.  It still smelled like evergreen trees and alcohol, but it was empty and lit only by one light behind the bar and the moonlight coming in through the large windows.  The twinkle lights were off.  Tables were cleared of dishes and decorations.  Skeletal remains of the wooden arch they were going to get married was shadowed against the moonlight.  The shell that would have housed their small, live band was empty.  Hell, the cleaning crew had already been through and short of the tables, chairs, and archway, there was no hint that a wedding had ever been intended to take place here at all.

The team shuffled their way towards the bar, because regardless if all of the food had been eaten by the guests that had come to a wedding that didn’t take place, the bar would always be stocked.  It was a Stark Tower requirement.  After the shitshow they’d been in, and a wedding that didn’t happen because the whole fucking universe was against Bucky, he wanted to drink all the liquor.

Natalia slid behind the bar to start pouring drinks.  He had no idea where she’d learned it.  Wasn’t from him.  His ideas of mixed drinks were Jack and Daniels.  But she set about making therapy cocktails like an old pro.  Thankfully, through some divine Asgardian intervention, there was  _ mead _ , and that was set down right in front of Bucky and Steve, who hunkered down, hip-to-hip, shoulder-to-shoulder at one end of the bar.

For a long few minutes, the only sounds were the soft sipping of an exhausted team, the clink of ice, and the softer  _ tups _ of glass on the wooden bar.  Each noise dug into the very fiber of Bucky’s skin, making him itch from his neck to his toes under his filthy, smelly gear.  Agitation. White hot anger crept up from the very pit of his soul until it was a burning ball of rage in the back of his throat.  The tumbler shattered in his metal fist.

“Fuck this!”  Bucky finally snapped, standing up so quick that his barstool toppled over.  Quite a few people twitched and reached for their weapons.  Bruce was too exhausted from being hulked out all day to even blink.  Steve just blinked owlishly and took another deep swallow from his mead.  Agitated, Bucky flicked the back of his ear, which made his shoulders hunched.

“I  _ said _ , fuck this!  I ain’t waitin’ another day to get married! Someone root out a preacher,” Bucky snarked.  Didn’t matter it was the middle of the night.  Didn’t matter it was Christmas Day.  James Buchanan Barnes was getting  _ fucking married _ to Steven Grant Rogers regardless of what the universe thought about it.

“You’re an Atheist, Buck,” Steve drawled, wearily, before taking another deep swallow.  Booze and exhaustion definitely loosened Steve’s tongue, and made Bucky’s rage broil even more.

“Ain’t the point.  I don’t give a fuck,” Bucky groused, even as Steve calmly got up to right Bucky’s chair and coax him to sit back down.

“You should,” he replied, just as calmly, as he slid his half-drunk mead into Bucky’s hand.

“I don’t give a  _ flying _ fuck, Rogers,” Bucky snarled, glowering miserably at the other side of the bar.  He caught sight of Nat, who was scowling behind the bar at Clint once he’d tracked her glare.  Sam was right beside Clint, grinning already with amusement.

“I’m… I could do it for you guys.  If you wanted.  I’m ordained,” Clint offered, despite the long-suffering sigh that followed from Nat. There must have been a long pause and too many eyes on him, because Clint started to look a bit twitchy.  He tried to play it off with a shrug and scratching the back of his head.

“What?  I was bored as shit between doses of painkillers when I broke my leg last April.  It was like, four in the morning and I was on a Wikipedia rabbit hole binge.  All bad ideas happen at four AM, guys, you all know that, so I ended up on the Universal Life Church’s website…” Clint explained, looking to Sam for back-up.  To his credit and self-preservation, Sam held his hands up and shook his head.  Another sigh from Nat followed. 

“It’s true,” she muttered reluctantly.  “He keeps the certificate on the bedroom wall.  On my side.  But it doesn’t mean anything,” she added pointedly as she aggressively poured more liquor into Clint’s glass.  Bucky had no idea how she managed it, but she did.

“Actually, it does,” Stark piped up. Bucky peered down the bar. Tony’s face was illuminated by his phone screen, casting shadows across his face that made him look more exhausted than any of them were. Or like the Cryptkeeper. “So long as you have your marriage license and witnesses, Barton here can help you out with this shotgun wedding,” he drawled on, causing Bucky to bristle.  If he’d been able to marry his best guy in the thirties, he would’a damn well gone and done it!  Steve’s hand curling over his thigh was all that kept him seated.  The Captain drained his drink and turned it upside-down onto the bartop.

“Well.  It’s oh-four-hundred right now - the hour for all bad decisions,” he turned a wry grin on Bucky.  “Whaddya say, Buck?  Wanna marry me?”  And just like that, the tension slid out through his boots and disappeared onto the floor, replaced by something warm and fuzzy.

“You’re a punk, Rogers,” Bucky groused all the same, even as his hand settled over Steve’s on his leg.

“I’ll take that as a yes, jerk.”

~ =☆= ~

Maggie was a grumpy gus, but there was no way Bucky was going to marry Steve without his little girl there.  She wasn’t so little anymore, but with how groggy she was, she was the same girl that Steve and Bucky had rescued all those years ago.  She was perched on Bucky’s hip, her button nose pressed under Bucky’s ear, wrapped up in her snowsuit and a blanket to keep her warm.

The whole team stood now on the Avengers Tower roof, because apparently bad decisions were not limited to getting ordained or getting married at four in the morning.  But Steve had insisted, and Bucky could never deny him a thing.  The twinkle lights in the ballroom were not the same.  This high up, most of the light pollution of New York was below them, giving them a dark, twinkling blanket high up above.  As he stood at the archway - a thrown together arch made from the rooftop lounge furniture and copious amounts of tulle because Darcy had insisted and Wanda was happy to help - he peered up at that dark sky and imagined this was a century ago.

Bucky’d had plans back in the forties, once Steve had peeled his broken ass off of Zola’s table.  They couldn’t get married, sure, at least not anywhere Bucky had heard of back then.  But there were countries that were more liberal than North America was in regards to homosexuality.  Yeah… yeah, it would be awful to leave Brooklyn, but even back then, Bucky’s home was where Steve was.

Not much had changed.  His home here in Manhattan in the Avengers Tower was because of Steve.  He would have stayed far away had it not been for the stubborn mule standing to his right.  Steve seemed to be thinking along the same lines, as he stepped closer to use his body to protect Maggie from the winds, but also so he could wrap an arm around Bucky’s middle.

In front of them, Clint was standing under the makeshift arch with his phone in his hand and his other hand scratching thoughtfully at the side of his head.

“C’mon, Barton! It’s cold out here!”  Sam groused from beside Steve.  Clint waved a hand dismissively and cleared his throat.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re gathered here today to witness the, uh, joining of Steven Grant Rogers and James Buchanan Barnes,” he began, squinting at his phone screen a bit before wrinkling his nose and stuffing it into his pants.

“Look -- you know why you’re here.  It isn’t about honouring and obeying.  It’s about love… and to aid and abet.  The love between these guys should never have been illegal.  And hey, maybe it’s fate that some ice and hardships brought them together in the  _ now _ , when it isn’t illegal, and anybody can love whoever they want freely,” Clint babbled.  And Bucky certainly did not wipe away a freezing tear from his cheek.  Maggie did it for him.

“So, without further adieu, if anybody protests these two getting married, the edge of the building is thatta-way,” he jerked a thumb over his shoulder.  There was some laughter behind them, but certainly no protests.  “Great.  The rings, please?”  Clint inquired, holding out his gloved hand. Sam and Nat didn’t hesitate to hand over both rings.

Steve and Bucky? Both saps, apparently.

Steve’s ring was a simple gold band. No adornments, nothing fancy. It was the kind of ring that a fella would wear back in the thirties after marrying a dame because they couldn’t afford anything out of the ordinary. Because that was exactly what it was. It had taken Bucky three months, hundreds of internet searches and trawling every pawn shop between Manhattan and Jersey to find what he was looking for. He’d finally found one in an antique shop in Red Bank. It didn’t matter that he’d paid the “antique” fee while bitching the whole time that  _ he _ was the antique. 

Bucky’s band… well. Steve was  _ definitely _ a sap, but also a genius. The man with a plan wasn’t just propaganda. He saw every avenue when it came to the type of lives that he and Bucky led. The ring that sat in Clint’s palm was paper thin, as wide as a pencil and Bucky could only guess that the gold it was made from had something in common with their benefactor’s suits. Bucky hadn’t considered what wearing a standard ring on his metal hand meant. He wouldn’t feel it, and the possibilities of it slipping or being ripped off were high. Steve had thought about all of that. 

Everything sort of faded into the back as Steve pushed the flimsy material over his metal knuckle until it was right up against the last knuckle. It was loose and shivering in the breeze, but Steve drew his thumb over the top and for a moment, Bucky could see circuits glowing red inside. The material tightened and with a faint whiff of ozone, Bucky knew that it had welded itself to his finger. There was a soft, victorious  _ yes! _ from behind them that could only be Tony, and Steve was beaming like that kid with the bloody nose on the playground a hundred years ago. 

“Guess m’stuck with you now, eh?” Bucky asked as he took the ring from Barton and slid it onto Steve’s finger. No whiff of ozone there, but that grin only got wider and he made a noise of confirmation. Somewhere in the background noise, Clint pronounced them married and Bucky was drawn forward for a kiss to seal the marriage. Maggie giggled from his hip and poked their faces. 

“Gross,” she announced, though she didn’t look disgusted at all. Which meant one of her uncles or aunts had put her up to it. Bucky’s money was on Tony. Steve laughed and Bucky followed. Any lingering tension from the mission and missing their wedding dissipated.

Pepper and Darcy had put together a beautiful wedding. But it wasn’t them. The big, fancy to-do with Manhattan’s socialites, foreign diplomats, and select members of the press? That wasn’t them. They weren’t royals or aristocrats. Outside of their uniforms, people didn’t typically recognize them on the streets. They were just two dumb, broken Brooklyn boys who were finally able to get married with the people who mattered most present.

Above the came the sounds of bagpipes mixed with the unmistakable whirring of arc reactor tech. The Iron Legion had arrived and had formed a circle above them with their loud speakers playing  _ When the Battle is Over. _

“Tony,” Pepper scolded him gently though he was grinning like a fox.

“What? You can’t tell me you didn’t think their wedding was going to get canned, too, Pep. I was prepared for the inevitable. And maybe I was watching the third Pirates movie at four in the morning, one night…” Tony babbled off hand with a dismissive shrug. 

With Maggie crushed between them, Steve and Bucky held each other against the cold. Bucky peered upwards around the fleet of the Iron Legion.  And yeah, Steve had been right. He didn’t believe in gods or fate or destiny. He couldn’t help but to put a silent  _ thank you _ out to the universe anyway.  Just in case. 

~ =  ★ = ~


	12. Twelve Drummers Drumming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the final chapter, the author defiles a child's poem and the boys enjoy a much needed vacation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mad shout out to my friend **[onelineinthesand](http://onelineinthesand.tumblr.com)** who helped me with debauching 'Twas The Night Before Christmas. Good job using that degree for something useful, darlin'!  <3
> 
> Also, here: have some [musical accompaniment](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FiHwtLi3maQ%20).

**Twelve Drummers Drumming**

~ = ★ = ~

_December 31st, 2021_

‘Twas the night before new year, when all through the hut,  
Not a creature was stirring, save two men in rut.  
Their clothes were all strewn o’er the ground without care,  
In hopes that their serums be no worse for wear.

The child was nestled all snug in her bed,  
Her two parents on honeymoon elsewhere instead.  
And Mama stark naked, just mounted by Cap,  
Had just settled down for a post coital nap.

When out on the sand there arose such a clatter,  
Cap sprang from his bed to see what was the matter  
Away to the window, he flew in the flesh,  
Tore open the shutter and threw up the mesh.

Moonshine of the crest of a now-rising tide,  
Gave mid-day like glow to the beach right beside.  
When, what to his wandering eye should appear  
But a silver hand’s gleam as it reached for his rear.

With a lick of his lips and a sure, playful smirk,  
He showed just what he wanted, and Cap set to work.  
More rapid than Pietro, Cap turned on his heel,  
And climbed back into bed then with laughter’s bright peal.

“Oh, Bucky, oh Sergeant, oh Barnes, oh sweetheart,  
It’s with you, I want every new year to start.  
To the end of the line, to the end of our lives,  
From Brooklyn, to here on the sunny Maldives.”

“Sap,” Barnes responded with a tears in his eyes,  
As Cap settled himself between his lover’s thighs.  
As waves will roll in with the tide on the rise  
So too in the night did their pleasure-filled cries.

So they whiled away hours in the peace of the night,  
Till the sky nearby bloomed with the fireworks' light.  
And as the clock struck, holding each other near,  
They looked to a good future in this, the New Year.

_But here’s how it really happened..._

As far as Bucky had been concerned, he and Steve would get married, and they’d go right back to work.  There’d been no plans for a honeymoon, no concerns about getting child care for Maggie, nothing.  Just right back to the grind where he and Steve were most comfortable.

The man with a plan had other ideas.

And really, Bucky should have suspected it would be the case.

The treehouse sat nestled in the edge of dense forest on one side, but the other side was exposed to the sea, giving a clear view across the Indian Ocean.  It was dark outside, and the moonlight was glittering on the crystal water like diamonds.  Still, with the sticky air and the threat of an incoming storm, it was an inside sort of night, and that was just fine with Bucky.

A radio in the bedroom was playing Christmas carols on a series of tabla.  There was a potted tree covered in twinkle lights in the corner.  They had the shudders propped open and the mosquito netting pulled closed around the bed, where they’d made a nest together and hadn’t left since breakfast.  With the air conditioner going, they were utterly comfortable… though still sweaty.

“There you are,” Steve purred against the back of Bucky’s ear the moment Bucky sagged down onto his elbows and gave himself over to the man blanketing his back.  Every muscle ached but in the way that tended to follow a workout.  And boy, was Steve putting him through his paces.  It had been since before Maggie that they’d pushed their respective serums to the toe-curling limits.

Steve was so big inside of him, and every fiber of his being was gliding the line between pain and pleasure.  His skin was slick and sticky, and his brain had melted out of his ears somewhere between rounds nine and ten.  His head tipped back by sheer willpower, or that Steve’s fingers pushed under his jaw to curl possessively around the front of his throat.  Bucky sighed in a way that expelled all remaining tension so he was a boneless heap under Steve.

It really took no time at all to bring them both over again.  There was no screaming from their already hoarse throats and Bucky’s flesh fingers scarcely curled into the sheets.  The metal plates ratched together from the overfiring in his synapses, but that was the extent as Steve eased him down onto his messy belly and flattened over him.

Bucky must have dozed off at some point.  When he woke, it was to far away thumping, like thunder.  Something trigger in his mind, and he twisted onto his back, reaching for the gun wedged between the mattress and headboard.  As he blinked the room into focus, the darkness was illuminated by the yellowish glow of the moon and colourful blasts from high in the sky.  Silhouetted against it all was a body he knew whether it was big or small.

Steve was leaning against a window, peering out over the ocean where boats were setting off fireworks for the resort guests.  Bucky let the adrenaline slip from his body, and took a few deep breaths for good measure as he slid the gun away.  Silent as anything, he pushed passed the mosquito netting as he rolled from the bed.  Even though he didn’t make a noise, Steve still shifted his weight to the right and welcomed Bucky in under his left arm without looking away.

“S’a new year, baby doll,” Steve murmured, finally turning his gaze away from the fireworks to kiss the top of Bucky’s ear.  “Only way it could be better s’if we were watchin’ the fireworks over the Brooklyn Bridge,” he added with a few more soft pecks.  Bucky smiled a little and nudged his husband with his elbow.

“Sap,” Bucky responded even though he felt a bit of a sting in his eyes.  Steve wasn’t the only sap in the room, of course.  His eyes wouldn’t be getting all leaky if he wasn’t a sap either.  Steve grinned and squeezed him closer, fingers shifting down to cup his backside. Despite the intimate touch, Bucky just leaned into Steve’s side and watched the bombs pop off in the sky.

Even though it had been eighty years since he and Steve had sat on a hillside watching the fireworks pop off over Coney Island, over the Brooklyn Bridge, Bucky knew that this was where he belonged.  Stupid and cliché as it was, home was where the heart was, and his had always been with the little guy from Brooklyn.

~ = ★ = ~


End file.
